


can't stop this thing we've started

by bettycooopers



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Post-Season/Series 04, minor Choni
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27033865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettycooopers/pseuds/bettycooopers
Summary: The thing is, though, Archie isn’t his childhood self anymore. But that smile was exactly the one she’d remembered, the one she’d been seeing in her dreams since she was four years old. The one she has purposefully been ignoring for half a decade, staring right back at her like no time had passed at all.
Relationships: Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper
Comments: 27
Kudos: 154





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello barchies! so, welcome to this...a time jump fic! a multi-chapter! very exciting stuff. i started writing this right after the season four finale, which means it's based off of early, early season five speculation (so, five year time jump, archie being in the navy, etc.) -- that means it is no longer canon _compliant_ necessarily, but...it still works.
> 
> thank you to my editor/therapist/co-conspirator/brain cell mate/codependent, [becca](https://https://archiveofourown.org/users/packedyoursaturday), without whom i would probably be crying in the fetal position/this fic would not exist/i would not be literally moving to another country at some point. my fave person, thank you for listening to me whine and telling me i am garbage/not garbage in equal measures. sap city, beech!
> 
> anywhoo, hope you all like this! chapter two is being edited, so you should see it soon...but for now, enjoy!

Betty sees Archie first. 

Of course she does; she’s always been detail oriented. She smells like canned air and sweat, and her ponytail is lopsided. She ducks into the women’s restroom, knowing they’ll probably both be at baggage claim and thinking she can at least make herself a little more presentable before she has to look him in the eye for the first time in five years.

They couldn’t have been on the same plane without noticing each other, could they? Betty had kept to herself for the majority of the flight, but she thinks she would have noticed Archie Andrews in full uniform sitting somewhere on her plane. He wasn’t exactly the kind of person you missed that easily.

She fusses around with the strange airport sink longer than she means to — combing out her hair and tying it back up, splashing the tepid water over her face a few times, scrubbing her hands, rinsing out her mouth. She takes a step back and looks at herself in the distorted, shatterproof mirror. She gives herself a harsh once over.

Yikes doesn’t begin to cut it. Still, it’s better than it was five — maybe ten — minutes prior.

She hikes her purse over her shoulder and slides her sunglasses down over her eyes, trying her best to feel invisible. Luck must be on her side, because when she gets to the baggage claim, there are only a few people left bobbing around and only a few bags left circling on the carousel. She grabs her cream colored hard shell and takes one more look around, dipping her sunglasses down to be sure. 

It seems Archie Andrews has already left the building.

—

Archie sees Betty first.

He’s unpacking and he notices something from the corner of his eye. A bit of movement, a flash of pink, a swish of blonde hair. He smiles softly, looking out the window and finding her quickly. Betty Cooper in all her glory. She’s moving about her room in some kind of hurry, talking to someone he can’t see.

He stations himself at his window, running his hand through his close-cut hair and ignoring the sweat he feels on his scalp, the heat on the back of his neck. He hasn’t seen Betty in years, and he can see the changes in her face, in her body. Not in all the detail he wants, of course — she’s moving and she’s far and he’s not a _total_ creep — but he can tell that her hair’s longer, a little darker. Her face has a few harsher edges and her frame is a bit thinner.

He tries (really, he does) to look away when she peels her sweater off, leaving her only in a pink bra with lace trim. She makes a face at the sweater and tosses it onto the bed, then turns towards the door of her bedroom so he’s looking directly at her back. He thinks he might see a small tattoo. 

She turns around and the door must be closed, because she’s fussing around with something next to the window when she looks up and finally notices him. He gives her a warm smile and laughs to himself as her mouth falls open and her arms snap up to cross over her chest. 

“Hi,” he says, even though he knows she can’t hear him. He offers a wave. 

She stares at him. He raises an eyebrow. She stares more. 

“Hi,” she finally mouths back, giving him a small wave. He’s about to gesture to his phone and pick it up to call her when she snaps the curtains shut and leaves him there to stare at the gauzy pink material on his own. 

—

Right, so – Betty thinks she might die. 

She’s talking animatedly to her mother about the flight (the people she was seated alongside were newly engaged and couldn’t seem to keep their hands off of each other, even as Betty continually cleared her throat and shrunk away from them in her window seat) as she gets ready to hop in the shower. She’s peeled away her shirt, horrified by the odor it’s giving off even though she’d only been wearing it for half the day, and her mother leaves her to shower and settle in when she notices her phone buzzing from the table across the room, beneath her window. She’s answering a text from her old roommate at Yale (no, she doesn’t have any job prospects on the horizon, and no, she’s not sure how long she’ll be staying in Riverdale, and yes, she wants to FaceTime soon to see the girl’s new apartment) when she happens to glance up and Archie Andrews is staring back at her, smiling. 

She’s about to raise her hand and wave when she realizes she’s in her bra. She feels her cheeks flush and snaps her arms up to cross over her chest because _she’s in her bra_ and she feels her mouth hanging open, but she can’t seem to close it. He’s laughing from his window. 

He’s _laughing_ from his _window_. At her _in her bra_. He says hi, waves. She stares at him. He raises an eyebrow. She stares more. Then, her brain kicks in and she manages a, “hi,” back before she reaches up and wrenches the curtains closed. 

Considering she feels about sixteen years old, exposed, and reeling about the boy across the way standing in his window frame and giving her that smile she knows a bit too well? Yeah. Death sounds good right about now.

She would text Kevin (she would _only_ ever text Kevin about something this Archie-related) but he would find it too funny and not miserable enough – so instead, she heads into her bathroom and starts the shower, waiting for it to heat up and glancing at herself in the mirror above her sink. 

If anything could make her feel like she was back in high school, it would be standing in her childhood bedroom and looking out her window to find Archie Andrews in his childhood bedroom staring back at her. 

The thing is, though, Archie isn’t his childhood self anymore. He’s a man, now: all muscles, sharp jawline, a close shave, a military haircut. He looks different – better, if at all possible – but that smile was exactly the one she’d remembered, the one she’d been seeing in her dreams since she was four years old. The one she has purposefully been ignoring for half a decade, staring right back at her like no time had passed at all. Like they were still waving goodbye to each other the morning she’d left for Yale, pretending they hadn’t spent the last three months staring at each other longingly from those exact positions in their bedroom windows. 

He’d tried, and she knew that. After the shit show that was their prom ( _god_ , their prom) and the tear-soaked monstrosity that was their graduation ( _jesus_ , their graduation), she’d told Jughead she’d stay away from Archie. She’d _chosen_ him, after all, it was only fair – she kept telling him that, even when she knew it wasn’t entirely true. She’d told Jug they’d spend the summer together, that he was the only man for her, ignoring the fact that she was far too young to be making decisions about men who weren’t even _men_ yet.

So, she’d watched him through the window. She texted him once – _I’m sorry, Arch. I have to do this. I love Jughead. I hope you understand_. – and he said he had. She still found him, though, night after night as she flopped into bed with a head and a heart full of feelings she couldn’t name, waiting for her in his chair, facing her bedroom with his guitar in his lap. 

She would wave – she hadn’t told Jughead she wouldn’t be polite, after all – and sneak glances over at him as he strummed his guitar, sometimes scribbling in the notebook poised next to him. He wouldn’t wave back, but he’d give her a smile sometimes – one that would seem normal to anyone else, but _she_ could see all the sadness behind it.

Jughead left for Iowa a few days before she left for Connecticut, and so once he was definitely gone, she’d taken the opportunity to let herself have a real goodbye with Archie. It was only fair, she’d told herself, that she give their friendship a real ending, that she leave him behind properly. Besides, Jug didn’t have to know. She wasn’t sure what would happen to them with him in Iowa and her in Connecticut – their relationship could barely withstand both of them living in the same town, so maintaining it with the thousand miles between them and their brand-new lives didn’t sound all that realistic.

Not that she wasn’t going to give it her all, or anything – but, anyway.

 _Meet me in your backyard_ , she’d texted Archie, _11:30?_

_You sure?_ , he’d responded, and she’d simply sent back a thumbs up and ignored the part of her brain that was screaming at her because she’d gotten herself into a situation where Archie, who tended to know what she was thinking about before she’d even caught onto it herself, had to second guess her. 

Everyone was sleeping by the time she snuck out to see Archie, closing the door as gently as possible behind her and crossing over to Archie’s, keeping her footsteps quick and light as she made her way into his yard. 

They’d done this a lot as kids – when their parents had been fighting or one of them had a bad day, they’d flash flashlights (at least, before they had cell phones) at each other’s windows and sneak out to Archie’s yard when it was warm enough. They’d settle under the old sycamore with its drooping branches and talk about nothing until they were tired enough to crawl back to their beds and sleep. 

So, when she saw him, actually there – his back up against the trunk of the tree, a blanket stretched out beneath him – she thought she might puke, or cry, or pass out. After a summer of not speaking because of the fact that her throat knotted up when she saw him, and the only thing she could think about were his lips on hers and his hands pressed against her skin, the only thing she wanted to do was tell him everything. 

She wanted to tell him about fighting with Jughead over him on grad night, about _screaming_ that their kiss hadn’t meant anything and knowing it wasn’t true at all, about nearly deferring from Yale because she was terrified she was going to fail, about the fact that the only time she seemed to smile was when she saw him sitting in his window, playing his guitar late at night. She wanted to tell him that she wanted _him_ – that she still couldn’t stop thinking about him, even all these months later. 

Instead, she sat down and smiled, softly. “Hey, Arch,” she breathed, because she couldn’t just stare at him any longer.

“Hey, Betts,” he’d breathed back, the smile seeping into his voice. She felt like she could barely see him through the thick haze of summer air, but she could feel his smile, felt it warm her body.

She catches her own face, now, back in the mirror – a foggy reflection since the water is steaming, and she rubs her hand over it, blinking back at herself and dropping her head down because she can’t _actually_ look at herself right now.

That girl, that night, was fairly certain that in a few short years she would be taking over the world. 

This girl, this day, thinks she might just let the world go ahead and flatten her the way it seems to want to. 

With her eyes closed, though, she doesn’t see her own reflection staring back at her – she sees Archie, all grown up, smiling at her from his window with the same ease he’s had all their lives.

She manages to get in the shower and let the hot water scald her already burning skin.

—

Archie’s never sweat more in his life. 

He’s out in the backyard the morning after his arrival, mowing the lawn that his mom had let go way too long. She spends most of her time in Chicago and pops back in from time to time to take care of the house, but she clearly hasn’t hired a landscaper or anything because the grass is well above his calves.

It’s kind of annoying, but it’s also the least he can do — this house is his, after all, and the fact that she’s been taking care of it all these years when her life wasn’t in Riverdale anymore is more than enough. Now that he’s here indefinitely, lawn upkeep he can handle. 

So, he’s mowing grass in the mid-May heat, sweat pouring off of him in waves. He’s been out here for about an hour, and he takes a moment to try and cool down. He takes a long pull from his water bottle and then tugs at his t-shirt, yanking it over his head and using it to mop the sweat from his forehead. 

When he lowers the shirt from his face, he sees her – Betty, standing at the edge of the yard, cheeks pink, eyes wide, lips parted. She’s got her hair down, a tank top and a pair of denim shorts on and she looks like the heat’s getting to her a bit, too, all flushed and sweaty.

She’d looked a bit like this the last time he’d seen her, too. Not the night before, but the last time they’d actually spent time together, the summer before college. She’d asked him to meet him in this very yard, under the old tree – and even though they’d spent the summer in a dramatic silence at her request, he’d done it. Partially because he’d missed her (mostly because he missed her), but partially because he’d needed to close the book on them. He’d needed to be done with something he didn’t really even understand to begin with and talking to her seemed like the only way to really, truly end things. 

“Hey, Arch,” she’d said, her voice breathy, her eyes huge in the moonlight.

“Hey, Betts,” he’d breathed back, hating the lightness in his voice.

She’d sat down next to him, and he’d moved over to give her a little more space. “How was your summer?” She’d asked, like she hadn’t spent part of her own watching him play his guitar through his bedroom window. He’d seen her, staring.

“Boring,” he’d shrugged. “Jughead left for Iowa?” She’d nodded. He watched as she tugged her lower lip between her teeth, chewing on it. “He didn’t… answer any of my texts.”

“I tried, Arch.” Betty sounded sad. “I tried to tell him it wasn’t… he shouldn’t… throw your friendship away over something so…,” she’d looked up at him, clearly trying to find the words that would hurt him the least.

“It didn’t mean anything to you, I know.”

“Archie,” she’d sighed, “that’s not–,”

“Did you want something?” He knew he’d sounded edgy. He’d _been_ edgy. This was a girl he’d been willing to blow up his life for. This was a girl he _had_ blown up his life for. This was his best friend in the entire world, who had dropped him without much consideration, as far as he was concerned. “The last I heard we weren’t allowed to talk anymore.”

And yeah, it hurt. It felt like shit to know that he cared about Betty way more than she cared about him. It hurt to see her in her room night after night, giving him those big, sad eyes, waving, but not speaking to him.

Still, he would forgive her for hurting him if she apologized. He would still drop everything for her. She was still _Betty Cooper_ , and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He had _kept_ trying. It was impossible. 

Betty had sucked in a breath and kept her eyes focused on the ground. “I wanted to say bye, Archie.” She’d looked back up at him, and he saw it then – the dark circles under her eyes, the hollowness of them. They were shining, like she might cry. “I leave tomorrow, and… just because I can’t… talk to you right now doesn’t mean I don’t care. You’re still my best friend. I… I couldn’t not say goodbye to you. We’re _leaving_.” 

“Yeah,” he’d said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. “I can’t believe it. I don’t know what… it’s gonna feel like. Not to be here every day – not to see you through that window.”

She’d nodded. “I know.” They’d stayed quiet a few moments.

“I’m gonna miss you–,”

“Archie.”

“I am. I know, ‘cause I already miss you.”

He’d kept his eyes off her as he’d said it. He’d heard the little gasp of air. Suddenly, her hand had been on his. “I already miss you, too.” She’d said, her voice full, wet.

He’d laced their fingers, squeezed her hand softly. “I… I won’t ask you to keep in touch, or anything.”

“Okay.” She’d been crying, fully, by this point. He’d looked over to see her wiping at her eyes with her free hand. There she was: pink cheeked, lips parted, eyes shining. “I… guess I’ll see you, then.”

He hadn’t let go of her hand, though. They’d sat there in silence for a long few minutes before she’d shifted a bit and he’d given it a final squeeze, then dropped it. “I’ll see you.” He’d repeated back to her. She’d nodded, then stood up, smoothed out her shorts, and walked out of his yard without turning back.

He hadn’t seen her – he hadn’t seen her until the night before, actually. Those old wounds were closed, now – but he hadn’t actually closed the book on her the way he’d intended to. It was stupid, he knew, but he figured he’d always have a soft spot for Betty Cooper.

And here she was, grown up and in the flesh.

“Hi,” he laughs, because their past feels a bit over dramatic to him, now, and he’s actually happy to see her. He turns off the mower. “I’d come over there and hug you, but I’m,” he gestures to his sweaty body, “kind of gross.”

“Gross is a word,” Betty smiles, her voice a little different than he remembered – a little deeper, a little louder. “I would say sweaty – probably not _gross_. I don’t know that any human with eyes would describe you as _gross_ , Arch.” He laughs, mopping his forehead with the back of his hand and shaking his head at her. 

Same old Betty Cooper.

—

It is not one of Betty’s finest moments. 

She’d woken up to the sound of a lawn mower, rolled over in her bed, and noticed it was only 7:15. Even in Riverdale, 7:15 was _too_ early for a lawn mower to be roaring. So, yeah, she was a bit pissed. She’d pulled her pillow over her head to try and get a bit more sleep, but once she was up, she was up. 

She’d craned her neck out the window to try and see where the sound was coming from, and who exactly she’d have to ask her mother to complain to later on – but when she couldn’t see a culprit, she’d figured it out. 

Archie Andrews: noted morning person with his deceivingly large back yard. _Ugh_.

If the thump in her chest and the rush in her ears were any indicator, she was going to continue to _feel_ things about Archie Andrews, even at just the thought of him mowing his lawn. After her shower the night before, she’d spent a bit of time catching up with her mother and then had gone up to bed, where she’d laid for about three hours, thinking about Archie. 

Archie, sitting at his open window on the hottest night of the summer, playing his guitar and looking up at her from time to time, catching her staring. Archie, holding her hand under the sycamore tree the night before she’d left for school. Archie, in the airport, his hair and his jawline unmistakable. Archie, waving to her and saying “hi,” as she gaped at him in her bra. 

Betty hasn’t seen him since her shower, even though she’d peeked out her window a few times through the small gap in the curtains. She figures he’s sleeping in the master, now, but he could have just been hiding from her. It wouldn’t exactly _surprise_ her.

Regardless, she’d come to the conclusion that she needed to talk to him…and now, with the lawn mower buzzing through her walls, she’s got a reason.

She puts on her most casual daytime clothes – a light pink tank top and a pair of high waisted shorts with a skinny belt – and runs her fingers through her hair a few times, happy with the way it’s hanging around her face. She swipes on a bit of lip gloss and a coat of mascara (not that she would normally care, especially when it comes to someone she’s known since she was _four_ ) and slips her feet into a pair of flip flops before making her way over to the Andrews house. 

She moves deliberately, and then as she gets to the edge of the yard, she stops in her tracks. 

God, Archie got _hotter_. 

She can’t exactly help herself from staring as she catches sight of him, standing in the back yard with the mower idling in front of him. He looks like some kind of statue – all clean lines and ripples, muscles dipping in and out of their assigned spaces. He’s dripping sweat (it is pretty hot, this morning,) and she feels her lips part. 

Good _lord_ . The man she once knew as a scrawny, sports obsessed little kid moves to pull his shirt over his head, and she thinks she might pass out. His abs are defined to a degree she’s never seen in person before, and there’s a set of dog tags hanging around his neck that she thinks must be _burning_ his skin off. He uses his shirt to mop off his brow, and then slings it over his shoulder. 

And then he _sees_ her, takes her in. She feels his eyes on her before she hears his voice, because the mower is loud and his _body_ is louder. 

“Hi,” he laughs. He turns off the mower. “I’d come over there and hug you, but I’m,” he gestures to his perfect, gorgeous chest, “kind of gross.”

“Gross is a word,” Betty stammers, staring at his abs and not his face. She isn’t completely sure how she’s talking, but she continues without permission from her brain. “I would say sweaty – probably not _gross_. I don’t know that any human with eyes would describe you as _gross_ , Arch.” 

He laughs at her. She makes a mental note to scream into her pillow, later. 

“You look good, too, Betts,” he chuckles, moving closer to her. “It’s really good to see you.”

“The grass looks good! Uh, the mowing. Like, the yard.” _What?_ She shakes her head, laughing at herself and willing her cheeks not to flush. They are absolutely already flushed, but she hopes Archie can’t tell from where he’s standing. She clears her throat, turning her head a little and trying to calm down, and then turns back to him. “I mean, only Archie Andrews would come back to Riverdale for a break and _immediately_ throw himself into yard work at the crack of dawn.”

“Oh, shit,” Archie seems to realize it all in one instant, “did I wake you up?” He surveys her for a second. “I mean, looks like you’ve been up, but… shit. Did I? It’s early, I didn’t even think. I’m just so used to everyone naturally being up at 5.”

Betty holds out a hand, shaking her head, “No, no, Arch, don’t worry about it. I… was up,” she lies, badly. He frowns at her. “Well, maybe I wasn’t up, but I would’ve been soon.”

“Yeah, it looked like you had an early night last night.” Betty stares at him, amused. So, he was looking. Interesting. “I mean… from what I could tell. Didn’t seem like you guys left the house, or anything.”

“You were watching for us?”

Archie shrugs, an easy but embarrassed smile on his lips. “Old habit,” he says, and she feels her heart pound. He mops at his face with his shirt again. “Want to come in? It’s cooler inside.”

“Oh, I,” she looks over her shoulder, glancing back at her house. She has literally no reason to say no, even though her body is screaming _say no_. “Yeah,” she stammers, “yeah, I’ll come in.”

She walks up the back steps, following him the way she has a million times, and smiles as he steps back to let her walk through the door first. Walking into the house offers a cool rush, and she feels her skin prickling. She hasn’t set foot in this house in more than five years, and her heart is hammering at the sight of everything – the eerie familiarity of it all, the way nothing has changed and it still feels like home – when she realizes Archie is talking to her. “…water? Or coffee?” She looks up at him, a smile on her face.

“Coffee sounds good,” she says, a small yawn escaping her throat. She laughs when he walks over to the fridge and opens it, setting a water bottle down in front of her before he goes to the coffee pot and flips it on.

“Drink that while you wait for this,” he grins, cracking his own water bottle open and taking a long sip. Betty watches as his Adam’s apple bobs and manages not to lick her lips. “I’m gonna go grab a clean shirt while that heats up.”

“Oh,” Betty watches as he pulls the shirt from around his neck and mops at his face once more. She’s thankful his face is covered, because she can’t seem to pull her eyes from his body. _God_. “You… don’t have to.” She knits her brow together at _that_ choice, and Archie pulls the shirt from his face to raise his own brows at her, a grin on his lips. “I’m just saying,” she stammers, wondering what else is going to come out of her mouth today, “it’s your house. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Archie laughs, shaking his head and running a hand through his sweaty hair. “I’m gonna go grab a clean shirt,” he repeats, “make yourself at home, I’ll be right back.” 

She hears him laughing as he walks up the stairs – she ignores every part of her brain screaming at her not to and watches him go. The muscles in his back shift under his skin as he walks, and she feels herself salivating. Fuck. How is it possible that he _still_ does this to her? That he does this to her _more_ , even? 

She tries to decide whether or not she should just bolt and leave him here to wonder if she’s turned into a complete idiot, or only part of one. Instead, though, she walks a little deeper into the house. She pokes her head into the living room, smiling at the sight of everything in its place – the photos of Archie on the walls, of Fred smiling back at her from the frames. She even finds a photo of her and Archie as little kids, smiling up at the camera with melted popsicle all over their mouths, both of them missing teeth. She traces her finger over the two of them, shaking her head.

It feels like another life – another person, even – but she remembers it so vividly, Fred standing over them with the disposable camera saying, “Smile, you two,” and Archie putting his arm around her and clamping his sticky hand on her shoulder as the flash popped. They couldn’t have been more than 7 years old. 

For a second, it feels like maybe nothing has changed.

She makes her way back into the kitchen, walking over to the fridge and opening it to see what kind of cream or milk he has. She pulls out a small cardboard container of cream and pushes the door shut, but the corner of something shiny catches her eye. She looks up at the papers hanging from a magnet on the door. She spots the normal things: a gas bill, an electricity bill, a letter from the Naval Academy… and then the elaborate, gaudy invitation to Cheryl and Toni’s wedding she has sitting on her own desk at home. 

She hears him walk back down the stairs, his feet quick, and looks up over her shoulder. As she takes him in, now in a dry shirt and with a cloud of deodorant settling around him, she remembers that nearly _everything_ has changed. Maybe, she thinks, for the better.

Archie gives her a smile as he makes his way back over to the coffee pot and opens the cabinets above to grab mugs. “Still cream and two sugars?” He asks, pouring the coffee without looking up at her.

“Yeah,” she nods, softening a bit. “Thanks.” He hands her the mug and she leans her back against the kitchen island as she brings it to her lips, breathing in the smell and trying to hide her grin.

They stand in silence for a few moments too long. It’s awkward, and she hates it. Her skin crawls as she wracks her brain for something to say.

“How’s your mom?” Archie speaks first, his eyes on her. “She…I haven’t had the chance to say hi, yet – how’s she doing?”

“Good,” Betty nods, “always busy, you know Alice.”

“I was surprised she wasn’t the one marching over here to yell at me about the lawnmower,” Archie laughs, giving her a look.

“I didn’t march _or_ yell, thank you very much,” Betty chuckles, planting a hand on her hip. “I thought about it, but I didn’t _do_ it.” 

“I’m glad,” Archie nods, “I have to say, a Betty Cooper lecture is not the most pleasant way to start off the day.” She laughs, gaping at him for a moment before leaning over and shoving his shoulder. “What? It’s not the _worst_ way, it’s just…there are better things.” 

“I’m _sure_ ,” Betty rolls her eyes at him, a laugh in her throat. “Well, would you prefer I report you to the neighborhood watch?” She takes a sip of her coffee, then adds, “Which Alice runs, by the way.”

“I didn’t know that, but somehow, I knew,” Archie shakes his head. He walks around the counter and pulls out a chair. “You can sit, if you want. I…,” he shrugs, floundering for a moment. “It’s like I’m offering you something in your own house. I don’t know. It’s weird.”

She gets what he’s saying. “It _is_ weird.” All this time and space between them is palpable, and neither of them quite knows how to bridge it. They’re quiet for another moment, and then Betty sets her coffee mug down and lifts herself onto the counter, sitting up on it the way she always has, legs crossed, mug resting on her lap. “It doesn’t have to be, though.”

“It doesn’t,” Archie agrees. He sits down and gives her a smile – a shy one, this time, and she feels herself melting a little at the sight of it. 

“So,” Betty says, rushed, because she catches sight of Cheryl and Toni’s ugly wedding invitation again from the corner of her eye. She doesn’t want to look at Archie and forget to bring it up. “You’re invited to the wedding of the century, huh?”

Archie looks at her, confused for a moment and then it clicks in his head and he lets out a laugh. “Oh, yeah,” he nods, sipping his coffee. “Apparently, I’m an _unofficial_ bridal party member, for the sake of _gender diversity_.” 

“ _Wow_ , impressive. Only Cheryl would have a _no men_ rule and then bring you into it,” Betty snorts. “I think I’ve got you beat, though, as an _official_ bridal party member.”

“You’re in the wedding?” Archie’s eyes are wide. She wants to smile at his expression, if nothing else. She nods. “When did _that_ happen?”

Betty shrugs. “She’s still Cheryl, but she’s not _that_ bad now that she’s grown up a bit – plus, Toni is great. I just figured…I was going to be home, and,” she makes a face. “I don’t think she would’ve taken ‘no’ for an answer, so I didn’t even try.”

“I get that,” Archie laughs, nodding slowly. “Why are there so many… events,” he looks like he’s at a loss for how to even ask the question, “like, isn’t it just supposed to be the wedding, and that’s… it?”

“Are you really asking me why _Cheryl Blossom_ is having a weeks-long-wedding- _extravaganza_ rather than just a plain old wedding day?” Betty laughs, hating even the sound of it as it comes out of her mouth. She’s been putting off thinking about the wedding in general, let alone the weeks of buildup she’ll have no choice but to muddle through. At least if Archie’s involved, maybe she’ll have a friend around.

“Fair,” Archie chuckles, shaking his head. “Can’t wait,” he pulls a face and Betty snorts.

“Yeah, it’s going to be _really_ fun,” she agrees. “At least we’ll be stuck in it together.”

Archie looks up at her, and she can’t quite read his expression – but she thinks it looks positive. He looks into his coffee as he continues, “You said you were going to be home anyway?” 

Betty feels her throat tighten. She busies her hands with the warm mug so she doesn’t dig her nails into her palm. “Yeah. I’m here… indefinitely,” she says without looking at him. Indefinitely sounds like the most professional way to put it. “Regrouping, a little… plotting my next move, I guess.” She decides to derail this conversation as quickly as possible, hopping down off the counter and draining the rest of her coffee so she can pour herself some more instead of looking at him. “You’re… just here for the wedding?”

“Actually,” he clears his throat. She hears him stand up and move closer to her. She sees him from her periphery and watches as he slides his coffee cup next to hers, so she can refill it, too. “I’m here indefinitely myself.”

“Oh,” Betty breathes. She keeps her eyes on the mugs, filling them slowly, deliberately. “You’re… you moved back?”

“Well,” Archie steps away from her to grab the cream back out of the fridge. “I don’t know if I’d say _that_ , but… I’m here, for now. I… have some things to figure out with the construction company that couldn’t wait. So, I’m here.”

“You don’t sound too happy about that, Arch,” Betty looks up at him now. He’s standing next to her, a few feet between them, with the cream in his hand. 

“I wanted to go active, after the Academy,” he shrugs. “This was more important, though. So, I’m taking care of it – and I’m going back to school in the fall, for a business degree. Wasn’t exactly the plan, but it’s… a plan.”

She gives him a soft smile, taking the cream. “It sounds like a good plan, to me. I’m proud of you,” she pauses, even though she tries not to. “Happy for you,” she amends, splashing some of the cream into both of their cups. “You’ll do great.”

“Thanks, Betty,” he smiles. She hands him the mug. “Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then.” Betty nods, keeping her eyes on him as she sips her coffee. “Hope that’s cool with you.”

She nearly chokes on her coffee. “Why wouldn’t that be cool with me?” Archie gives her a look, his eyes hard. She bristles for a moment. She gets it, though. “Trust me,” she says, putting a hand on his forearm and ignoring the way his skin feels warm under her palm – familiar and so, so different. “It’s cool with me. It’ll be nice,” she smiles up at him, “to have a friend around.”

—

Archie’s never been good at distracting himself.

He’d spent the day trying not to think about Betty – about her standing in his backyard, about her sitting on his kitchen counter, about her here, indefinitely – and when that hadn’t worked, he’d decided to take a long run through Riverdale to clear his mind. 

He’d gotten back home right before sunset, taken a shower, called his mom, and then flopped into his bed. He’s been thinking for a few hours how he should just switch to the master. If he’s going to live here, even if it’s just for now, and his mom is going to stay in Chicago… it makes sense. It has a bathroom attached, and there’s more space. 

He can turn his room into a gym – it already has the heavy bag; he can add a treadmill or something. 

He hears his phone buzzing on his dresser and stands up, catching sight of Betty as he moves past the window. Her curtains are open again and she’s sitting at her desk. Her hair is in a misshapen bun, she’s wearing pajamas, and she looks pissed off. She’s staring at her laptop screen scowling – he can’t help it, he feels himself smile. 

He’s seen Betty look angry plenty of times and somehow, it’s always funny to him. The frown on her lips, the scrunch in her brow, the tinge of her cheeks – as long as it’s not directed at him, it’s always made him laugh. 

He grabs his phone and sits down on the chair he has facing the window, scrolling over the notifications before chucking it onto his bed. He watches her for a few moments longer, smiling to himself.

Before long, he has his guitar across his lap. He hasn’t touched it in a long time so he tunes it before he starts to play mindlessly. His fingers aren’t used to it anymore, but it doesn’t sound too bad to his own ears. 

He plays absentmindedly for a bit, his eyes drifting from the guitar and back to Betty, still angry, now muttering at her computer. It’s only after he’s halfway through that he realizes what it is he’s playing. 

Fuck. 

_If you carry the torch, I’ll follow the light_ , he hears in his head. The melody continues. He stops his hands, tears his eyes away from the window. 

Earlier, she’d said something about how it would be nice having a friend around. He had agreed, it was good to see her – good to talk to her. She felt the same to him, but more, if that was possible. She was Betty, plus. 

He doesn’t want to screw this up with feelings, or longing, or whatever he’d kept trapped in him at eighteen. He was different now too. Archie, plus. 

Still, he feels his fingers starting to play again. 

It will be nice, he decides, having her here. It will be nice seeing a familiar face from his window.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, hey...i bet you thought you'd seen the last of me 😏 but here i am, with an update! hey, look at us...who would have thought? 
> 
> thank you forever to my editor and best beech, [becca](https://https://archiveofourown.org/users/packedyoursaturday), who helps me live my day to day life and thinks up half my fics. cheers to you for not making me correct every "neighbor" to "neighbour", even though i know it killed you a little inside. one of these days i will able to travel into your country and buy you some fancy ice wine.
> 
> ok, enough from me — hope you all enjoy chapter two! 🤍

There’s a part of Archie that always feared he would run into Betty at the grocery store.

Not that it’s a _fear_ of his to run into her, necessarily. He’s not afraid of Betty Cooper...it just would’ve been a more dramatic way to meet again, after all this time.

Instead, he finds himself shivering slightly as he stands too long in the frozen food aisle of Riverdale’s Stop & Shop, his full cart next to him as he attempts to blend into the boxes of frozen pizza, hiding not from Betty, but from _Alice_ Cooper (Smith? Jones? He’s not sure what to call her now,) who has passed him about four times in other aisles. So far, he’s been able to avoid her. He thinks with the fluorescent lighting coming from above and casting over him from the freezer cases, he might not be so lucky if she catches him again. There’s something about the color of his hair in these lights that makes it tricky to hide.

“Archie?” He flinches and turns, dread creeping up his throat and dissolving when he’s not met with Alice’s face, but Toni’s.

“Toni,” he smiles, moving around his cart to pull her into a hug, “oh, thank god.” Toni laughs, giving him a look as she pulls back from the hug. “I…thought you might be someone else.”

“Just me,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Cheryl’s idea of groceries entail cherries and bourbon, so,” Toni gestures to her cart, filled with normal things like bread, milk, eggs, “whenever I’m not trying to live like a 1920’s aristocrat, I have to venture out.”

“Ah,” Archie laughs, shaking his head. “Same old Cheryl, then.”

“She’s gotten better,” Toni chuckles, but he can see that she means it in a sweet way. They’ve been a packaged deal for so long that Archie’s really never even thought about them changing – he’s kept in touch sporadically with the two of them, which had surprised him at first, but he’d saved Cheryl Blossom’s life, once. He’d come to realize that meant he was probably going to be in her good graces for the rest of time, and he was resigned to it. There were worse places to live. “So, are you bringing a plus one to the wedding?”

Archie laughs, grinning over at her and bumping the side of his cart against hers. “I can’t believe you guys are getting married,” he shakes his head, “honestly I kind of figured you two would just do it on your own and tell people later.”

“You don’t know how much I would love that,” Toni rolls her eyes, her façade cracking a bit from the smile on her lips. “This wedding is…a lot more than I would have planned.”

“Betty said it was going to be…a lot,” Archie chuckles. 

“Oh, did she,” Toni’s grin slips back onto her lips. “So, you saw her.” Archie sighs, shaking his head and letting out a laugh. He’d had a feeling this was going to be what it was like if he mentioned Betty to…well, anyone he happened to see. He’d tried to prepare himself for it, but he still felt his face flushing the slightest bit, the tops of his ears going red.

“Of course I saw her, we’re neighbors,” he settles on. Toni narrows her eyes and plants a hand on her hip. 

“Try that again,” she says, gesturing for him to continue, “because your blushing says differently.”

“We had coffee,” he shakes his head, not bothering to fight her. Toni was honestly trickier to evade than Cheryl, a lot of the time – Archie thought, probably, because she was nicer and thus a bit more difficult to deny. “She came over to the house, and we hung out for a little while. I guess we’re…friends. I don’t think we _weren’t_ friends, though.”

“I’m sure you’re friends,” Toni doesn’t sound like she believes that. She reaches up and pats him on the shoulder, shrugging. “I’ll get the real details from Cheryl – Betty’s going to be at the house for a fitting later, and I’m sure she’s not letting her get away with that vague shit you just pulled.” Archie looks at her blankly, his brows raised. “A _dress_ fitting, Andrews...Cheryl’s outfitting all the bridesmaids. I think this one’s for the Welcome Dinner, or something.”

“What’s a _Welcome Dinner,”_ Archie laughs, raking his fingers through his hair, a bemused smile on his face.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Toni laughs, shaking her head. “But at least all the wedding events will give you and Betty a _ton_ of time to talk.” 

“Can’t wait,” Archie frowns, albeit a bit of a fake one, and Toni laughs up at him. “Hey, I was wondering,” he reaches around to the back of his neck, scratching at his skin and avoiding her eyes, “is, uh…Jughead coming?”

He hasn’t spoken to Jughead in more than five years, and he’s been wondering if he’s going to have to start getting himself ready for that. He might need another five years to mentally prepare, if he’s being honest. Toni gives him a knowing look, her lips pressed together, and, thankfully, shakes her head. “No Jones, he’s on book tour and he couldn’t get away. Besides, I think…I think he’s…very done with it here, you know? He’ll send a card.” Archie nods. “Veronica’s coming.”

“I was surprised she’s not _in_ the wedding.”

“Couldn’t commit to all the time away from work,” Toni explains, and Archie nods again. He’s actually talked to Veronica a few times over the past few years. He wouldn’t consider them _friends,_ but…they don’t hate each other, so that was something. “Besides, she’s busy enough planning her own wedding – Cheryl _couldn’t possibly depend on her,”_ Toni adopts a voice Archie imagines is her imitating Cheryl, very poorly.

“You’re going to have to get better at impersonating your wife, you know,” Archie chuckles. He looks down at his cart. His frozen pizzas have a sheen of sweat on the boxes. “I’ve heard it’s a part of marriage.”

“I guess I’ll learn, then,” Toni grins, laughing up at him. “Well, I’m glad you’re back, Andrews.” 

He looks around. Sure, yeah, he feels a bit unsettled here – he’d been hesitant to put his plans on hold, rearrange his life a bit…but people are happy to see him, and he’s happy to see them, too. 

“Yeah. I’m glad I’m back, too,” he nods, and for once it doesn’t feel all that fake.

—

Betty’s trying on the dress for Cheryl and Toni’s Welcome Dinner — she’s not totally clear on the purpose of said dinner, since only a third of the guests are going to be in town three weeks prior to the wedding and welcoming them to the place most of them already _live_ seems a bit tone deaf – when she hears a knock on the door. She has a fitting with Cheryl and her gang of tailors later, but her mom and F.P. are visiting Polly and the kids for the day, so she glances at herself in the mirror to make sure she doesn’t look colossally insane before heading down the stairs to answer.

The dress is red, of course – one of Cheryl’s pre-approved styles, some of which Betty has sprawled out on her bed in various stages of disarray – and falls just above the knee. The fabric is a soft satin, and it has a high neck in the front with a dramatic dip in the back. She doesn’t mind it, even though it seems like a bit much for a dinner with people she’s known her entire life. 

Whatever, if Cheryl was providing the outfits and they weren’t _horrible,_ she didn’t really feel the need to complain. As she makes her way down the stairs, catching her reflection in the mirror, she decides – she’ll wear her hair pulled back and her makeup soft, maybe a pair of fake lashes. 

She pulls open the door, expecting a UPS driver or the mailman, and finds Archie instead, his car keys in his hand. “Oh,” she smiles, feeling like an idiot in her fancy dress. “Hey.”

“Hey,” his eyes are on her legs. She squints at him, letting out a soft laugh as he drags them up to her eyes. “Nice socks.” She looks down. Shit. She’s wearing zebra striped ankle socks.

“Well, you know me,” she says, doing her best to brush it off, “a beacon of fashion.”

“Always,” he nods, sticking his hands in his pockets. He nods to the dress. “Special occasion?”

“Oh,” Betty lets out a laugh. She tries to encourage her cheeks _not_ to turn pink, but she knows they are ignoring her internal monologue. “One of Cheryl’s demands is that she be allowed to dress me for all the events surrounding the wedding,” Betty shrugs. “I figured it was easier than fighting her.”

 _“Demands?”_ Archie shakes his head, laughing. “It’s great that she trusts you after all these years.”

Betty snorts, then opens the door a bit wider. She turns towards the house, the outside air rushing against her back. “Do you want to come in?”

“No, no,” Archie’s eyes are foggy and resting somewhere around her navel when she turns back around. He pulls them back up to her eyes and she ignores the idea pounding in her head that he was looking at her bare back like _that._ He hooks his thumb over his shoulder, pointing over to his house, “I have groceries that are going to melt in the car, I just…do you want to go get a drink, later?” Betty looks at him. _That’s_ new. “Or…do you have to wear that dress somewhere tonight?”

“No,” Betty starts, then holds up a hand, “I mean…yeah.” Her brain is running too fast for her to catch it. A drink? With Archie? She’s never just _grabbed a drink_ with Archie before. It feels weird, the idea flipping over in her head. They’ve been drunk together before, of course…but not in years, and never legally. Never in _public._ She blinks at him. He seems to be waiting for her to answer. Fuck – she has to answer. “I have to bring the dress to Cheryl’s, for a fitting – but that won’t take all ni–,” she stops herself, feeling her cheeks getting warm. “Yeah, sure. We can go grab a drink.”

“Awesome, good,” Archie is smiling. She smiles back at him, ignoring the thrumming in her chest. “I’ll…pick you up around 8, does that work? We can figure out where to go.”

“New territory,” she gives him a soft smile, “huh?”

“Don’t worry,” he puffs his chest a little, “you’ll be at the best bar Riverdale has to offer in just a few hours.”

“Archie, I think there are two bars total in this town,” Betty rolls her eyes at him playfully, shaking her head. “But, alright. I trust you.” 

He gives her a warm smile. The heaviness of the words isn’t lost on her, and she’s pretty sure from the look on his face, it isn’t lost on him either. “Good,” he says, his voice gentle. “I’ll see you later, then.”

She steps back into the house and shuts the door, leaning her bare back against it and shutting her eyes. 

Fuck.

—

Archie figures he’ll hear from her. 

He’s gotten the groceries put away and is sweating in his boxing gloves after hitting his heavy bag for a bit when he hears his phone buzz a few times in succession on his desk. He peels the gloves off and tosses them onto his bed, grabbing the phone and unlocking it as he flops into his desk chair and kicks his feet up. He leans back as he reads, a soft smile on his lips – four new texts from Betty Cooper. 

_‘What do you think about heading over to Greendale?’_

_‘I was just thinking…it’s really either La Bonne Nuit or the White Wyrm…neither of which really feel comfy.’_

_‘Not that there’s any reason they shouldn’t, I guess. I was just thinking maybe it would be easier…but we can go wherever.’_

_‘Maybe we just venture out a little? Is Greendale too far to drive?’_

He laughs as a fifth one slides in while he’s reading, _‘Sorry, I’m sure I sound crazy, lol.’_

He shakes his head, because she doesn’t sound crazy – she just sounds like _Betty,_ which, more than anything, is comforting. He’s glad to hear her sound _normal_ rather than stilted or awkward. Plus, he doesn’t really think the speakeasy _or_ the Wyrm are great options for the two of them to sit down and catch up over drinks…or whatever exactly is going to happen tonight. 

_‘Greendale is cool’,_ he types. He thinks for a moment. _‘do you want to pick a place? or am I allowed?’_ He laughs as he sends it, leaning back in his chair a bit and seeing if he can catch her eye through their windows. She’s not there, but he gets another text a few minutes later of the eye roll emoji, followed by _, ‘See you in a few hours’,_ so he figures he’s free to choose. 

—

Betty’s used to feeling uncomfortable – she’s uncomfortable a lot of the time just existing, lately – but there’s a whole other level of discomfort that comes with standing on a fitting platform in the middle of Cheryl Blossom’s study, hours away from her whatever-it-is with Archie.

She has two tailors prodding at the dress on her frame, pinning it and pushing her around as they work. This dress is also red (of course), long, and silky. Betty feels like a moron with her hair in a ponytail and her face makeup-free, this gorgeous dress hanging off her frame. Cheryl is sitting in a chair, half watching the process and half typing out a list of demands on her phone. “There are just a few things I _need_ from you,” she’d explained as Betty had slipped into the dress, “nothing too crazy, not to worry.” 

Needless to say, Betty was worried. Cheryl’s toned down in the last several years – a mixture of happiness, maturity, and therapy has really helped her relax, and Betty’s relationship with her has definitely gotten less combative, but the wedding planning has brought out a side of Cheryl that Betty’s not exactly used to anymore. It’s...a lot, to say the least – she’s put their text thread on Do Not Disturb quite a few times in the past several months.

“The other bridesmaids are _slacking,”_ Cheryl says, now, looking over the top of her screen and pointing to a fold in the fabric. “Smooth that, Fran. I don’t want it to crease, it’s _silk.”_ The tailor hurries to flatten the fabric as the other sticks a pin into Betty’s hip. She hisses softly, trying to make sure no one catches it – she doesn’t want to be another thing the tailors are stressed over.

“How could they possibly be slacking?” Betty raises a brow at Cheryl in the mirror. They hadn’t been asked to do all that much, really...just to show up and wear the dresses Cheryl was providing. “You planned everything, you _bought_ everything, you’re controlling everything...what’s there to _slack_ on?”

Cheryl ignores Betty’s ribbing and continues. “Well, for starters, you’re the only one who has taken it upon yourself to clear your wildly _busy_ schedule and come to town to make yourself available to me.” She shoots Betty a sickening smile, a teasing look in her eyes. She knows full well Betty hasn’t exactly been _busy_ these days. “I know we’re family and all, so it’s practically obligatory, but…it would be nice for any of them to show _some_ kindness.” 

Betty rolls her eyes dramatically and Cheryl lets out a laugh, then returns to her phone screen. “Between the Welcome Dinner later this week and then the bridal shower next, I just expected a little more _enthusiasm,_ you know? I mean, I’m getting married, after all. You would think those close to me would _care_ a bit more.” 

“We’re all going to see each other for weeks on end,” Betty says as she turns clumsily, the tailors guiding her frame. She shoots Cheryl a glare in the mirror, and Cheryl raises her brow. “I’m sure they’re just conserving their energy. You’re not exactly a _chill_ bride...that’s more your fiancée.”

Cheryl lets out a sharp breath, her eyes narrow, but continues typing. “Au contraire, dear cousin,” she continues, ignoring Betty entirely, “it’s not like I’ve asked any of you to put money out for much – just your own travel. I don’t know, regardless,” she waves a hand, “I’m not pleased.” Betty frowns. It’s like she’s not even there. “Don’t _frown,_ Betty, _”_ Cheryl lifts her eyes. “You’ll get wrinkles...and it makes you look so _pinched.”_

“That, you notice,” Betty snorts. Cheryl puts her phone down and stands up, surveying the dress and then looking over at Betty in the mirror. 

“I think it just needs to be taken in a touch more at the waist,” Cheryl points, tilting her head. “And I’d like the neckline a bit lower. Just a bit,” she glances up at Betty’s face, squinting. “Are you going to freak out that I’m not letting you wear a collar?”

Betty sighs, rolling her eyes, “I’m not a prude,” she mutters, ignoring the loud laugh Cheryl lets out in her direction. She’s _not,_ okay? She surveys herself in the mirror, slowly. “It’s pretty,” she says, smiling softly at her reflection. “I didn’t think I’d like the red on me, but it’s nice.”

“Of course it’s _nice,”_ Cheryl snorts, shaking her head and sharing a look with the tailors, who politely return her laugh. She returns to her chair and Betty slouches a little, sighing when Rex, the other tailor, prods at her spine to stand her up a bit straighter. “So, cousin, pray tell,” Cheryl crosses her legs and drapes her hands over her knees. “Have you seen our dear Archibald yet? I hear he’s back in town.”

“Oh, my god,” Betty huffs, jumping slightly as a pin sticks into her shoulder, “you _hear?_ From who?”

“That’s besides the point, Nancy Drew,” Cheryl puts her phone down on the end table next to her, meeting Betty’s eye in the mirror. “So, you did see him…he looks good, doesn’t he?”

“You _saw_ him?” 

“A photo,” Cheryl shrugs. “He filled out,” She stands, crossing her arms and cocking her hip. “Did the two of you talk? I don’t want there to be any…lingering awkwardness for all we have going on. That bizarre little tête-à-tête the two of you shared was so long ago, I just,—”

“Cheryl, oh my god,” Betty speaks a bit more forcefully, keeping her eyes on Cheryl’s in the mirror. She hates the smirk she’s wearing, like she knows something when there’s _nothing_ to know. “Yes, I saw him. I saw him, we talked for a little while, and everything was fine. Archie and I are friends, just like we’ve always been.”

“Cousin, please. Pedal your malarkey somewhere else — all I want to know is whether or not you’re going to ruin my festivities with your unbearable unresolved sexual tension…which,” Cheryl’s on the move, grabbing a rocks glass off of the bar top on the other side of the room, “believe it or not, is not _interesting_ to bear witness to. It’s just _gross.”_

“We have _no_ sexual tension,” Betty groans, feeling her face getting hot. “God, I thought you were finished being insufferable in this lifetime.” 

“Don’t _lie_ to me,” Cheryl chastises, pouring some liquid from a decanter over a glass of ice and then lifting it, swirling it around in the glass. “Just make sure the two of you patch things up before the rehearsal dinner, alright? I don’t need you making everyone else uncomfortable – especially when it’s not about either of you.”

Betty ignores her, instead opting to look over at the drink in her hand. “You know it’s not even five o’clock yet, right?” Cheryl rolls her eyes and takes a long sip. Betty thinks maybe she’d have taken a drink, too, if one had been offered.

“I’m planning a _wedding,_ trust me when I say that I need it.” She looks back over at Betty in the mirror. The tailors are surveying her as well, and Betty shuts her eyes, hating the feeling of people watching her so carefully. “Perfect,” Cheryl says, having moved back to her chair. 

Betty opens her eyes and surveys herself again. She thinks about saying _okay at best,_ but decides against it; instead, giving the tailors a thankful smile as they get to work getting her out of the mess of pins. Her eyes find the elaborate grandfather clock in the mirror and she squints to read it – 4:28. She glances back at herself in the mirror, grimacing as she makes a quick checklist in her head of the things she needs to do when she gets home to make herself look like a person deserving to go out with Archie Andrews.

—

Archie doesn’t expect her to ring the doorbell around 8:03, when he’s just about to grab his keys off his dresser and head over to her place. 

He hurries down to open the door, his face shifting into a smile when he sees her; she has her hair down in soft waves, and she’s wearing a navy dress he’s never seen before (it occurs to him he probably hasn’t seen _most_ of her clothes before, considering it’s been five years) that hits just above the knee with a fluttery piece of fabric over her shoulder. It dips at the neck and he can’t help his eyes travelling down her body, though he wills them not to stop at her cleavage, then back up. “What are you doing here?” He manages, when his eyes are back on hers. He thinks her cheeks might be a little flushed, though it could just be the look of her skin under the porch light. 

“What do you mean, I thought we…had plans,” she looks over her shoulder, then back at him, “or was I…,”

“No, no, we do – I just thought I was coming to get you,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Not a big deal – I’ll catch your mom another time.” 

Betty laughs, shaking her own head and tucking her phone into the small purse she has over her shoulder. “I’d wait as long as you can for _that_ reunion. Trust me, I saved you tonight.” Archie checks to make sure his wallet is in his pocket, then pulls the door shut behind him and locks it, listening as Betty launches into a story about Alice’s latest neighborhood spat, this time with one of the dog walkers who some of their neighbors use. He laughs as he leads her to the car, shaking his head and pulling open the passenger door for her, watching her legs as she hops up into his truck and settles herself in the seat. 

“All set?” He’s nearly eye-level with her as she smooths her dress over her legs, and he gives her a soft smile, watching as she lifts her eyes to meet his. 

He swallows, looking straight into her eyes, greener than he’d even remembered. “All set,” she says, her voice soft, and he lets out a little laugh.

“Okay, hold that thought,” he grins, ripping his eyes from hers and closing the truck door. He makes his way around the back of the truck to the driver’s side, trying his best to remain casual – this _is_ casual, he’s not sure why he needs to remind himself of that – as he opens the door and slides in next to her. “Now, where were we…she wrote an op-ed about _the dog walker?”_

He cranks the engine and listens to her recount the rest of the story – the gist being that, as per usual, Alice is nuts but also managed to get her way – and laughs along with her, catching glimpses of her in his peripheral vision as he drives them towards the city limits. He hasn’t really had the chance to look at her, yet – not that he hasn’t looked…seeing her bare back in that dress earlier has made it tough to keep up with his plan of, you know, talking like a normal person, but they pull up at a red light while she’s still talking, and he takes the chance to take her in the way he’s wanted to without her being jumpy or looking back at him.

She looks, to put it plainly, beautiful. She’s the Betty Cooper he’s always known, yes, but she’s grown into herself in a way he can’t help but notice – her eyes shining brighter, her movements more intentional, her body more sure of itself. He doesn’t remember her knocking the breath out of him in quite this way before. With the last bits of the sunset flooding in the window behind her, she looks like she’s glowing, and he can’t take his eyes off her. 

He feels caught when she looks over at him, her eyebrows raised. “Arch,” she laughs, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and flicking her eyes back to the road, “the light’s green.”

He laughs to himself and feels his cheeks warm up, but shakes his head and tears his eyes from her, pressing his foot to the gas. “Sorry,” he says, his voice quiet. “I just…can’t believe you’re in my truck, you know?”

“Yeah,” she says, but he can’t read her tone – she sounds tentative, a little uneasy. “I can’t believe it either.”

“Feels long overdue,” he adds, and he sees her smile – which, if he’s being honest, is really enough of an answer for him.

They keep it casual as they make their way into the depths of Greendale, and Betty seems more relaxed by the time they’re making their way up to the glossy, mahogany bar. “I’ll get the first round,” Archie has his wallet in his hand before they even make it to the bar, and he laughs at the frown on Betty’s lips but shakes his head, “I’m allowed to buy my oldest friend a drink, alright, Cooper?” He laughs as the frown on her face shifts into a smile, and she rolls her eyes gently, but orders a beer from the bartender. Archie orders for himself, then adds on two shots of tequila and laughs as Betty lets out a surprised cough. “We have a lot to catch up on, we’re going to need them.”

“A lot is an understatement,” Betty chuckles, sipping her beer as Archie opens a tab and grabs his own drink. He holds the shot up to her, waiting for her to grab hers and gives her a grin.

“Here’s to old friends,” he muses, and she laughs. “What?”

“You’re such a cornball, Andrews,” she shakes her head, then taps her shot glass to his, taps it on the bar, and tosses it back with ease. He watches her head tilt back, her neck elongated, and lets his eyes travel down as she swallows, stopping himself before his eyes land back at the dip in her dress and instead, doing his own shot easily. Tequila is only a minor distraction, but it works for now.

“So,” he says, putting his shot glass down and signaling for another two when the bartender passes, ignoring the look on Betty’s face and picking up his beer. They’re quiet for a long few moments, and he catches her smiling at him, looking a little nervous. “I can go first, if you want.”

“I want,” she laughs, lifting her beer and taking a long sip. “Let’s hear it.”

—

So, okay, things aren’t totally going to plan…and yes, there was a plan, and no, it didn’t involve Archie buying her tequila shots. 

Multiple tequila shots. 

And yet, here she is, tucked into the inside seat of a high-top table with Archie’s hand pressed into her back, trying not to spit her cider out onto the table because he won’t stop making her laugh. She glares at him, ignoring the flush of his cheeks and the low laugh in his throat. 

His lips are close to her ear as he speaks, and she still has cider in her mouth when his words reach her ears, “Betty, he dumped you with a _manuscript?”_

She manages to swallow and snorts out a laugh, putting her hand on his arm and squeezing it tight, leaning her head forward and laughing breathlessly. Is he not doing the tequila shots he’s buying? She tries to tuck it into the back of her mind to remember to watch, next time, to make sure he’s not just sliding the shot over to her – he seems less drunk than her, maybe. 

“He didn’t dump me _with_ a manuscript,” she says, her voice raw, “he…he brought it _up_ with a manuscript, that’s all.”

“That’s not _better,”_ he laughs, shaking his head. He looks at her expectantly, but she busies herself with trying to get her breathing regulated and cleaning up the glasses on their table – why are there so _many?_ Archie clears his throat, pressing his fingers into her back and she tries to ignore the sensation of his _hand_ on her _back_ like it belongs there, or something. “Share with the class, Cooper.”

“We don’t have to talk about this, Arch, we’ve…we can talk about me getting fired, more,” she offers, giving him a small smile, “we can talk about root canals, or water torture. We don’t have to go into _this,_ now.”

“Why not?” Archie frowns at her. She feels like she’s blushing from the inside out and lets out a nervous laugh, pushing her hand over her face. He brushes his fingers over her back softly and she feels herself easing into his touch, which makes the whole blushing thing even worse. She spreads her fingers and finds him smiling softly, all sweet-faced, tipsy Archie. She pushes her water glass towards him. 

“You have to drive us home,” she says, her voice soft. She drops her hand from her face and lets out a breath. “Jughead…is the reason we didn’t talk for so long, Arch, I don’t know. We don’t…we don’t have to talk about him, now.”

“I don’t think it was _just_ Jughead,” he says, after a long sip from the water. He sets the glass down and she watches as a little rivulet slides down the side of it. “I think…I think that was _us_ , more than anything.” She nods. “Plus, I…he shouldn’t be _off-limits,_ or anything. Nothing should be.”

She stares at him, her brows raised. “Nothing?” He shakes his head, scooting his chair in closer to her.

“Nothing. So, let’s hear it, huh?” She definitely doesn’t mean to shiver, and she reaches for her drink to cover it up. 

“Whatever, it was…it was _stupid,_ really. He sent me a draft of the book,” she puts her glass down, looking up at him, “did you read the book?” 

“I was a little busy,” Archie’s face is a little harder and she raises a brow at him. “My mom said it was good, though.”

Betty snorts, shrugging, “it’s fine,” she nods, then looks back at her glass. “He sent me his first draft, and it had all these post-it’s sticking out of the top…so I turned to the pages and it was…it was a breakup scene. _Our_ breakup scene,” she swallows, an absent smile on her lips. Archie slides his hand a little lower on her back and she bites down on her lower lip, peeking up at him. “I mean…things were shitty, you know? They…after…,” she swallows, trying to gather herself and force her brain not to say _after I cheated on him with you, which, we should probably talk about that someday, right,_ “after we left for school, it was just…a lot of back and forth. Visits got stale, there was nothing to talk about on the phone, he would come to New Haven for the weekend and we wouldn’t even have se-,” she stops abruptly, wrapping her fingers around her glass.

“It’s okay, Betts,” Archie chuckles, dropping his voice to a whisper and leaning close to her ear, “you can say _sex,_ I’ve heard of it.” 

She shoves at his shoulder, rolling her eyes and barking out a laugh, “oh my god, shut _up,”_ she mumbles, shaking her head. “Whatever, we stopped having sex. It…I don’t know, it got bad. Who would’ve thought, right?” She feels Archie’s fingers tap lightly into her back and ignores it, continuing on. “So, I went ahead and…read the scene, and then I called him and he waited for me to bring it up.”

“Stop,” Archie chuckles, his brows high, “he waited?”

“Yeah, he didn’t even act like he was going to bring it up, and then when I did…he was just like, ‘Oh, right, I did flag those for you,’ like it was _about the book.”_

“ _Jug_ ,” Archie laughs, his voice low, “jesus.”

“I know! I know,” she smiles over at him, dipping her finger into her cider absently, “I…honestly think I lost my mind, a little. I felt bad about it, you know? I went _off._ So, I guess you can technically say _I_ ended things.”

She doesn’t need to tell Archie that she’d shouted something about Jughead causing her to lose the best friend she’d ever had…not now that he was back here, being her friend again, at least. She clears her throat lightly, pulling her finger out of her glass and sucking it between her lips. Archie’s staring at her mouth, and she realizes what exactly it is that she’s doing and extracts her finger, picking up her glass and taking a slow sip.

She watches Archie swallow, his eyes darting away from her mouth as his voice pulls them both from their thoughts, “Two years ago, you said?”

She nods. “School got harder, too,” she shrugs, “it was good, though…it was time for it to be over, we’d been dragging it out for too long.” 

Archie drags his thumb along her spine gently, then takes his hand off her back and grabs his water glass, taking a sip and then setting it back down. “What an asshole,” he mutters, shrugging. “You know, I tried to congratulate him on the book. He told me he’d prefer if I didn’t buy a copy.” 

Betty shuts her eyes, shaking her head. “We don’t have to talk about him,” she says again, her voice quieter. Archie’s hand slides back onto her back, and he lets out a low laugh that makes her open her eyes. 

He’s smiling when he says, “I did it anyway. Put it through a shredder one day when I was on desk duty.” She lets out a loud laugh, leaning forward and pressing her head to his shoulder. He wears cologne, now, but he still smells like the Archie she’s always known – fabric softener and peppermint gum. It’s nice. 

“You didn’t,” she chuckles, sitting back in her seat. He doesn’t have to confirm it, though – she knows him, she knows he did. “Anyway, you know the rest, really. I finished school, I started working, I got fired, I moved home. That’s about it.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Archie grins over at her, “you got a _tattoo,_ somewhere in there.” Betty feels her cheeks flushing and shoves at his shoulder again, shaking her head. They’re _so_ not talking about her tattoo, right now. 

“You’re an idiot,” she laughs, rolling her eyes at him. “It’s just a little one.” 

“It’s still a _tattoo,_ Betty. What’d you do with my best friend?” She glares at him, ignoring the comment and pushing his water glass back at him. He drinks obediently. “So, are you going to start applying to things around here, now that you’re back?”

She sighs, holding her glass in both hands and bringing it up to her mouth, putting her lips around the rim but not sipping. “I dunno,” she says, mostly into the cup. “I was thinking of licking my wounds for a while and spending some time listening to my mother’s tirades. I kind of missed them.”

Archie snorts, then slides his hand from her back onto her arm, his fingers stretching along her forearm. “You’re being too hard on yourself. People get fired, it’s _fine.”_

 _“I_ don’t get fired, though. Betty Cooper doesn’t get fired,” she peers up at him, sipping the remains of her cider and setting the empty glass on the table. “I’m just mad at myself, you know? I…there’s a lot I think I could have done to prevent it.”

“You said it was a budget cut thing, though, didn’t you?” She rolls her eyes at him, “seriously, Betts – you…you’re fine. You’re perfect, just wh-,” 

“Don’t,” Betty narrows her brows up at him, “you…you of all people know how _that’s_ half the problem in itself, I’m _not._ I’m not perfect, and people seem to have this insane obsession with telling me that I am. They always have, you included.” She sucks in a breath at her words, pressing a hand to her face and then shaking her head. “Sorry,” she doubles back, shaking her head, “I just…it kills me to hea-,”

“If you’d let me _finish,”_ he says, a little laugh in the back of his throat, “I was going to say you’re _perfect_ just where you are. You don’t have to be some kind of shining icon of greatness, you know – you can just be _Betty,_ who just finished with an Ivy League education and is going to take some time to do whatever the fuck she wants for a little while. You’re allowed to not have a plan – it might _help_ a little, even, if you don’t.” He squeezes her forearm gently, and she feels her skin tingling under his touch. She searches his face, her lips twisted in the smallest smile because she can see just how earnest he is. “Seriously, Betts…you’re doing _fine,”_ he shrugs his shoulder, “I’m proud of you.”

She lets out a slow breath and before she really knows what she’s doing, she’s got her arms wrapped around his neck, her face buried against it. “Thanks, Arch,” she breathes against his skin, the alcohol and his cologne sloshing around her brain in a way that makes her want to cry, a little.

—

Archie’s taking it slow as he drives down a poorly lit back road, his high beams on and Betty’s soft voice singing groggily to the radio. It’s an experience he’s had dozens of times, but it feels different, now. 

He feels her sliding over to him on the bench seat and tucks her under his arm, pulling her closer and letting his hand rest on her shoulder, his fingers curling around it loosely. “You sound good,” he smiles, watching as she reaches out and turns the volume on the stereo down a bit. She’s definitely sobered up a bit in the time since they’d left the bar, but she was still significantly drunk, and he can’t help but remember how much he loves seeing her like this. 

There’s something about drunk Betty that he knows will always remind him of their childhood – her being as carefree and tousled as she wanted, singing out loud and off key, grabbing onto him and dragging him around. He’d never minded then, and even though he was technically doing the dragging tonight, he didn’t mind now, either. “I sound _drunk,”_ she giggles, and he feels her looking over at him, seeing his face stretch into a smile. “That’s what happens when my stupid best friend buys me tequila shots, I get _drunk._ M’gonna let you explain it to Alice.”

“You’re a big girl,” Archie chuckles, shaking his head and squeezing her shoulder, “you can just sneak past her, like you were planning.”

“Shut up,” she mutters, but he can tell he’s right. He feels her slide her hand up and lace her fingers with the hand he’s got on her shoulder. “Listen, s’not my fault, you bought like forty tequila shots.”

“I bought _six,_ and you did four of ‘em,” he laughs, peeking over at her, “and then downed like three ciders, and half my beer.”

“I was _nervous,”_ she giggles, then pulls both their hands over her mouth. He can feel her face flushing under his fingers and laughs hard, shaking his head. “I _was_ ! We…Archie, if you’ve forgotten, we haven’t hung out in a _long_ time.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he chuckles, pulling their hands away from her face and giving hers a squeeze, “but you don’t have to be _nervous_ around me, Betts, it’s _me._ What’s there to be nervous about, maybe you’ll say a word I don’t know?”

She snorts out a laugh, laying her head on his shoulder and shaking it softly. He flips the high beams off as they reach a better lit patch of road, feeling her fingers flexing against his. “I dunno, I…we never talked, after we said ‘bye, and I…I just figured you didn’t want to. So I didn’t, and then it just felt…too late, so I,” she lets out a sigh and he feels her turn her head. He peeks down at her, and her mouth is nearly against his ear, “I just figured we weren’t gonna be friends anymore, that’s all. M’glad that’s not true, but…s’weird to go from thinking you’re not gonna be friends anymore, to going out to a bar to catch up with _…Archie.”_

He laughs but squeezes her hand gently. “I was nervous, too, you know,” he says, his voice quiet. He listens to the radio for a long moment and she starts playing with his fingers – separating them, poking at them. “I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me, back then.”

“I don’t know if I did,” she shrugs, “I mean…I _always_ wanna hear from you…but I dunno how I would’ve taken it, before.” He nods. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t _always_ want to hear from him – or, at least, hasn’t always wanted to hear from him…it’s why they stopped talking in the first place, but he’s not going to call her on it now. 

They drive in silence for a while. He watches the road and listens to her hum to the radio and tries to wrap his brain around the fact that Betty Cooper is laying on his shoulder, telling him things and humming in his ear and playing with his fingers. He tries to ignore the part of him that wants to push her a little, because she’s drunk and it would be pointless…but it’s still _there._ It’s still there as they pull onto the main road in Riverdale, it’s still there as he pulls onto their street, and it’s still there as he puts the car in park and cuts the engine in his driveway. 

“What was the academy like,” she asks, a few minutes after they’ve parked and he’s about to check and make sure she hasn’t fallen asleep on him. He smiles, shaking his head, “seriously…was it hard? I mean…I’m sure it wasn’t _easy,_ but,” she trails off, then laces her fingers with his again and gives his hand a squeeze, “were you scared?”

“Scared? No,” he lets out a slow breath, shifting himself a little and sitting her up, slightly. “It was…hard. A lot of structure, and…I don’t know. I didn’t really have anyone, you know? I…our whole thing had just…,” he rubs his thumb over hers and he feels her nod. “It was a fresh start. A _really_ fresh one, but once I got used to it…it was good. It helped me…get into a routine, and get disciplined, and,” he smiles over at her, “I learned how to be by myself.” 

He swallows, listening as she tries to make sense of his words, and ignores the part of his brain that wants, more than anything, to talk about how often he thought of _her_ while he was at the Academy, how often he found himself thinking of all the things he’d written for her over the past few years, all the words he’d left unsaid. How often he found himself wanting to _say_ them. 

Instead of saying anything, though, he laughs as she jumps, seeing the porch light flick on at the Cooper house. “Warden’s up,” she mumbles, grinning up at him, “think I’m going to get grounded?”

“Probably,” he snorts, rolling his eyes over to the house. “Let me help you in.”

“No, no,” she starts, but he shakes his head, sliding out of the truck and holding his hand out. He pulls her over to the driver’s side, helping her down from the cab and wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they walk to her doorstep. 

“Thanks,” she says, her voice soft as he lets go of her and she starts up the steps. She glances at him over her shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger, alright?” 

He frowns at her, rolling his eyes. “I’ll see you in _three_ minutes,” he chuckles, pointing to his bedroom window. She flushes, fumbling with her keys and laughing softly, rolling her eyes back at him and mumbling a soft, “night,” before she heads inside.

—

Thankfully, Alice is calm enough. She tells Betty to take a shower and fills her a glass of water before sending her upstairs. She figures she’ll probably hear it tomorrow, but she doesn’t really care – she’s an adult, after all.

Betty waits for Archie to get back inside from her window. She watches as his kitchen light flips on, then off, and counts to twenty-five, smiling when his bedroom light glows softly behind the glass of his window. It’s a trick she’d learned when they were kids – twenty-five seconds, and he’d be in his bedroom. She offers him a soft wave, her cheeks flushed when he catches her watching and then hears her phone chime.

She frowns down at it but finds her face softening as she reads, _‘go to sleep, betts…come over tomorrow for hangover food.’_

Her fingers hover over her phone and she types out a few options. 

_‘Pre-hangover food is the best hangover cure, you know.’_

_‘Maybe we need a nightcap?’_

_‘If I woke up at your place, I’d be less hungover, quicker.’_

She deletes the last one – seriously, what is she even _saying –_ sticking her tongue out at him. She wills herself to lay back on her bed and turn off her lamp, finally settling on _‘Night, Arch’,_ pressing send and flipping her phone face down before she can do something stupid like invite herself over.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone, and welcome to chapter 3! hope you guys enjoy this one, it is one of my personal faves. 
> 
> a special happy birthday to my lovely friend, [justine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackthorns/pseuds/blackthorns) – hope this chapter gives you the song reveal you truly deserve! happy birthday ♡
> 
> and forever thank you's to my multi-color haired editor and most talented beech, [becca](https://https://archiveofourown.org/users/packedyoursaturday)...hockey season starts on wednesday, let's fucking go.

So, they start hanging out. 

Betty helps Archie clear out the attic one weekend because he keeps talking about how he’d like to put some old furniture up there, but he’s not sure what there’s room for. “You know, Arch,” she’d laughed after the fourth time of him mentioning it, “if you want my help, you can just ask for it.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mea-,” he’d stammered, and she’d laughed and rolled her eyes, sipping the last of her beer from the bottle and setting it down on the coffee table. She’d put her hand on his forearm lightly, watching as he dropped his eyes to her fingers. 

“How’s Saturday?”

Saturday morning she shows up at his house in overalls, a white sports bra underneath, her hair tied up in a high ponytail. Archie’s already showered and dressed, and she grins at him from the doorway as she plants her hand on her hip, frowning. “Why did you _shower_? We’re gonna sweat up there, Andrews.”

He rolls his eyes and reaches over, tugging on her ponytail. “Nice hair,” he chuckles, taking a step back and letting her in the door. “I shower in the morning, I’ll shower again later, it’s fine.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she mutters, reaching up and ruffling at his wet hair. She leads him up to the attic, trying to ignore the way he plants his hand on her lower back while she climbs the pull-down ladder. 

They sort through the big stuff first and Betty makes a list of the things Archie needs to haul down to the curb on her phone – his parents old bed frame, his mom’s vanity, a hamster cage from when they were in third grade. Then, they spread out the poorly labeled boxes (“my dad wasn’t exactly great at the whole _organizing_ thing,” Archie chuckles, and Betty rubs his back softly, a smile on her lips) and open them up, an enormous garbage bag between the two of them. 

“How much of this am I allowed to get rid of,” Archie muses, leafing through a pile of construction paper with streaks of magic marker and glitter glue on them. 

“Are you asking me as your friend, or as a Cooper?”

“Is there a difference?” He grins over at her, his brows high on his forehead as he leafs through the stack of papers. 

Betty snorts, “ _Yes_ , it’s like you don’t know me at all.” She clears her throat, putting on her best Alice voice. “As a Cooper, you’re going to need to get a label maker and organize _all_ of this…don’t throw it out, it means something.” He sours at her and she laughs, shaking her head. “As your friend, though…as much as you want – you don’t have to keep any of it, if you don’t want to.” Betty looks over his shoulder, grinning when he holds up a drawing of two sloppy stick figures, arrows labeled “Archie” and “Betty” aimed at their heads. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Duh,” he laughs, pointing at the smaller stick figure, “she’s got a ponytail, she looks just like you.”

Betty nods, snatching it out of his hand and laughing, tucking it beneath her thigh and sticking her tongue out at him, “well, it’s mine now…going to frame that one, it’s practically a portrait.”

They work through boxes and joke around, Betty tossing dried up macaroni art at Archie’s head, Archie poking her in the ear with a felt covered pipe cleaner he’d found stuffed into the corner of a box. She pulls out a stack of handmade Father’s Day cards, humming softly and running her fingers along the top one and handing them over wordlessly, smiling when she sees Archie’s face soften.

He reads to himself while she stuffs the trash bag full of jewelry made from plastic beads, relics of his childhood with Mary. She jumps when he clears his throat, then looks up at him, her eyes wide. “You might like this one,” he chuckles, handing her a bright pink construction paper heart with a smaller white heart glued expertly over the top. Betty takes it from him, furrowing her brow and letting out a soft laugh when she sees “Happy Father’s Day, Mr. Andrews!” scrawled across the front of the card in her neat, loopy childhood handwriting. She sucks in a breath, looking over at him in surprise and laughing when she finds him smiling back at her. “I can’t believe he kept this,” she murmurs, tracing her fingers over the letters, reading out, “Thank you for being such a great Dad to Archie. He loves you, and so do I. Love, Betty.” 

She shakes her head, grinning and feeling her eyes welling up. She won’t cry, here, now – she wants to, sure, but they have a lot to do and that could…derail things, a bit. “He loved that you gave him that,” Archie laughs, reaching his arm over and squeezing her shoulder. “I remember he put it up on the fridge for…god, I don’t know, ‘til Christmas, at least.”

“I remember,” she nods, her voice soft. She smiles up at him, biting on the inside of her cheek. “Can I keep it?”

“Course you can, Betty,” he grins, tapping his foot against hers around the boxes. She tucks it under her thigh with the stick figure drawing and pretends she’s rubbing at her eyes because of the dust as she finishes rummaging through the contents of the box.

—

Archie isn’t necessarily a fan of the big mall – it’s not close, there’s no food court, and it’s full of stores he doesn’t shop at – but Betty’s been whining about having to go for a few days, so he offers to drive her out there. “You don’t have to,” she says, several times. After what is probably the fifteenth time, she explains, “I’m just picking up the dresses that Cheryl pre-approved, it’s…going to be boring.”

“Trust me, Betty, I don’t _want_ to,” he chuckles, “but the alternative is listening to you whine about it while you keep putting it off, so…we’re going.” She rolls her eyes at him a bit too hard but hugs him a little tighter when she says goodbye to head out for the night. 

They head out on a Wednesday afternoon, beating the rush hour traffic and getting a decent parking spot, Archie laughing and flushing a little when Betty curses out another driver in the parking lot. “It was your spot,” she grumbles as she waits for him to lock up. Archie wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him as they walk towards the entrance.

“Whatever you say, champ,” he mumbles against the top of her head, laughter in his voice.

The specialty store where Cheryl’s dress choices are being held is well lit, eerily clean, and the saleswoman offers him a chair, a glass of champagne, and a menswear magazine in the first thirty seconds of their conversation. Archie declines the champagne and the magazine, but accepts the chair and flops into it, laughing as Betty rolls her eyes and drops her purse in his lap. “They just want me to try one on for a size thing – you’re okay waiting like, ten minutes, right?”

“What if I say no,” he chuckles, grazing his hand over his jaw and raising his brows at her. She scowls at him and rolls her eyes, but then offers him a soft smile.

“Ten minutes,” she says, reassuring in a way that he knows means it will be well over ten minutes. He doesn’t care, though – he’d wait as long as she needed.

She floats back out of the fitting room in a short, silky looking red dress, walking on her tiptoes. He doesn’t totally understand why until the saleswoman, poking around at the waist of the dress, tells her to sink down a bit – her heels won’t be quite that high, per Cheryl’s instructions. Betty sinks down, shooting Archie a grin in the mirror. He sticks his tongue out at her and she presses her lips together, trying not to laugh. 

“Do you like it?” Betty asks, smoothing her hands over the skirt and turning to the side. Archie lets his eyes fall over her bare back – another backless dress, he could get behind this wedding if Cheryl keeps choosing these backless dresses – and clears his throat softly. 

“It’s beautiful,” he says, his eyes on hers in the mirror. “Might be a problem, though – you don’t want to steal Cheryl’s thunder, or anything.”

Betty snorts at the same time that the saleswoman coos approvingly, and Archie bites back a laugh as he tears his eyes from Betty, looking too pretty to explain, in the mirror. 

—

Betty buys a six pack of a beer she knows Archie likes and shows up at his house – they’re supposed to be watching Raiders of the Lost Ark, but he’s not in the house when she pops through the side door. She sets the beer down on the counter and is about to call for Archie when she hears sour guitar notes off in the distance. She plucks two of the bottles out of the cardboard, uncaps them, and then heads in the direction of the sound.

“Hey,” she calls, a smile on her lips as she makes her way out into the musty garage. Archie’s sitting on the couch, his guitar in his lap, and he smiles at her over his shoulder. 

“Hey, you,” he chuckles, “is it 7 already? Sorry…I was just,” he nods towards the guitar as she sets a beer down in front of him on the little coffee table and flops into one of the chairs as he continues to mess around with the strings.

“No, you’re fine,” she smiles, kicking her feet up on the table, sipping her beer, “I’m early, go ahead.” She shuts her eyes and tilts her head back, listening to the guitar as he plucks at the strings, tuning it. A thought pops into her head, neon and loud: _Archie wrote a song for you, once._ She tries to push it back into her brain, far in the depths of things that don’t need to be revisited. 

Archie wrote a song for her once, sure, but that was a long time ago. He probably doesn’t even remember it anymore. She’s never even heard the whole thing, she notes, and cracks one eye open to find him twisting one of the knobs and plucking a string. “Sounds…,” she trails off, a smile on her lips that she knows he’s seeing.

“Bad?” he laughs, and she peeks over at him, her face scrunched. 

“Well, not good.”

“It’ll get there,” he reassures, playing a chord and then fiddling with another knob. “Any requests?”

Her mouth is forming words before her brain has given it permission. “Any chance you remember my song?” She snaps her eyes open and finds herself looking at him. He’s not panicked, per se, but he doesn’t look _calm_ , either. She opens her mouth to try and rebuff herself and instead, hears her own voice saying, “I…never actually got to hear the whole thing. It sounded…like a good one, from what I remember. It’s okay, though…if you don’t remember it, I mean.”

“No, I remember it,” he says, his voice soft. She bites down on her lower lip and lifts her head up, her eyebrows raised. “Of course I remember it.”

“Oh,” she nods. “Well…don’t feel like you have to. I have plenty of other requests.” He plucks at another string, then looks up at her.

“You should hear it,” he smiles, his eyes a little distant. He clears his throat and shoots her a smile, “I might not sound so great.”

“Stop,” she laughs softly, shaking her head, “you’ll sound fine, I’m sure.” He takes a long pull on the beer and then sets it back down, giving her one more glance before he starts strumming. 

“ _There’s no warning_ ,” he sings, keeping his eyes on his fingers, “ _when everything changes…you let down your guard and I saw something strange, I thought, ‘she’s not made for this world, and neither am I_ ’.” Betty feels herself sucking in a breath, her heart beating hard and jumping into her throat. She shuts her eyes and feels her palms pricking with sweat as he continues, his voice deeper and craggier than she remembers it. 

The song is beautiful, yes, and her heart aches…but not for Archie, not _this_ Archie, here, now. The man in front of her isn’t the same boy who sat her down in the bunker, a nervous smile on his lips – she remembers that she felt like she could hear his heart beating, that’s how nervous he’d looked. He’s older, now, and so is she – they’re different people, and their feelings have cycled, and changed, and maybe even disappeared. 

Her heart aches for the two of them, then, though. She wants to cry for them at eighteen, feelings bigger than their bodies could contain, unsure of what to do next – of how to do anything, really…because of their relationships, because of their futures, because of the feelings themselves. They’re different now, though, and she’s thankful for that. She’s thankful for the them that exist here, now. 

She swallows as he finishes off the song with a long strum and smiles over at him, taking a long sip of her beer while she tries to figure out what to say. “Thanks,” she breathes out, shaking her head, “for playing it, I mean. It’s pretty, Arch.”

He nods. “I didn’t think it was so bad,” he shrugs, laughing and reaching for his beer. She’s quiet for a long few moments, watching him swallow before she speaks again. 

“What about ‘Can’t Fight This Feeling’, still know that one?” She grins over at him, shrugging her shoulder and crossing one ankle over the other. She remembers him teaching himself that song, plucking at strings and making his fingers bleed.

“Yeah,” he grins over at her, then looks back down at the guitar, chuckling, “yeah, I remember that one.” He gives her a grateful look as he starts strumming, and, just the way she used to, she feels like she knows exactly what he’s trying to say. 

—

The drive to the cemetery is longer than Archie remembers.

Maybe it’s because he feels a lingering sense of dread about going, or maybe it’s because he’s allergic to the little bunch of flowers that are sitting on the other side of the bench seat, but he feels itchy. He shifts around in his seat, rolling up his sleeves as he drives with his knees. 

He hasn’t been to the cemetery in a few years – close to four, if he’s counting right. It’s not that he hasn’t wanted to…he just hasn’t been in town, or hasn’t had the time, or hasn’t felt like it’s the place that he feels connected to his dad, or a bunch of other excuses he’s come up with to tone down the guilt that’s been sitting firmly in his chest for way too long. He scratches at the back of his neck as he takes the exit off the highway, hanging a left onto the long main road, letting out a slow breath as he slides his hand down to the bouquet and pushes the flowers further away from him on the seat.

He doesn’t want to feel guilty for not coming to see his dad’s grave, really – it’s not like his dad is _there_ , or whatever, and he talks to him pretty regularly…so it’s not that he feels like he’s forgotten him, or something. It’s just…this weird sense of guilt he carries around with him, knowing that if he doesn’t visit, no one will. He was thinking of asking Betty to come with him, but then he thought maybe this was something he should do on his own, at least for the first time in such a long while. He knows what Fred would say – that a visit from Betty is always welcome – but he’s sure he’ll try to bring her along next time.

His truck rattles down the main road and when he turns into the cemetery, he passes the information building and makes his way down the tree-lined street. He’d thought maybe he’d need directions, but it seems like muscle memory and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s pulling off to the side and putting the truck into park. He looks over to the row of headstones, biting on the inside of his cheek. He knows what he’s about to see: overgrown grass, dead flowers, maybe some moss on the stone – and he’s pissed at himself for not asking someone to take care of it when he couldn’t, for not just being able to do it himself. 

Archie grabs the flowers and rips his keys out of the ignition, ignoring the way his ears are rushing and the fact that his hands are sweating. He walks down the row of headstones and sucks in a breath when he sees it: Fred’s headstone with the grass around it perfectly manicured, flowers freshly planted, a piece of bright blue construction paper tucked tightly in between a few flower stems. He feels his face twisting into a smile and presses his fingers against the headstone, chewing on the inside of his cheek and shaking his head. 

He sets the flowers down on the ground in front of the stone, stooping down and grabbing the paper, smiling as he unfolds it to find one of the Father’s Day cards they’d dug up in the attic – one that he remembers the two of them working on together, glitter hanging off the edges. He lets himself sit down on the ground, sliding the cards back between the flower stems and leaning his back against the headstone. He pulls out his phone and scrolls, finding her easily.

“Hey,” she answers quickly, sounding frazzled, a little breathless, “hey, what’s up?”

“You alright?” He feels the smile on his lips, bites back the laugh in his throat.

“Oh, I’m fine – just…my mom, she’s…,” Betty trails off and he nods.

“Alice,” Archie supplies, and smiles as Betty laughs back at him.

“Exactly,” he hears her smile and looks down at the flowers, holding one of the petals between his fingers. “What’s up with you? Are you…outside?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice soft, “I’m…visiting my dad, actually.”

“Oh,” she breathes, almost immediately, and then he can tell her brain clicks in and she’s talking again, this time quicker, “oh, about that, I…I hope it’s okay. I…I didn’t want to bring it up in case you were…I don’t know, against going now, or something – I just…I got there and I thought I could help, a little, you know?”

“Betty,” he laughs and tilts his head back, leaning it against the headstone and wondering if Fred knows, somewhere, that this is happening – that he’s sitting here, talking to Betty, grinning like an idiot. “I’m happy you came here, it’s totally okay.”

“It’s okay? It looks okay?”

“Of course it’s okay, Betts,” he smiles. “More than okay. I…I haven’t been able to get here, and I…seriously, thank you for doing all this. It must have been a disaster, here.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she lies, badly, and he chuckles. “I just…did a little planting, no big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” he says, softly. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, “a really big deal.”

“He deserved to have one of his cards,” he can practically hear her shrug and he leans his face into the phone, shaking his head. He can’t believe she’s real, sometimes. “Besides…I talk to him, sometimes – I…I mean, I hope that’s alright. I just,” she’s quiet for a moment and when she speaks, her voice is softer. “I like to think about what he’d say, you know? If I was…asking him for advice, or just talking to him. I like to try and figure out what he’d tell me to do with my life.”

Archie shuts his eyes and breathes a long few breaths, squeezing the phone in his hand. He plucks a few strands of grass out of the ground, twisting them around his fingers. “Of course that’s alright,” he murmurs, “it’s _very_ alright.”

He doesn’t have to tell her that he does the same thing – he’s pretty sure she already knows.

—

Betty is pacing around her room in a robe, panicking, when she texts Archie. 

The thing about it is that she knows this is _stupid_ — it’s stupid to not feel like she can breathe when the dresses she’s wearing for the Bachelorette, the Bridal Shower, and the Rehearsal have all been fitted to her body, when they’re _perfect_ by definition. It’s just…it’s not that she’s not confident in her body, it’s that she’s not confident in _herself_ , right now, and it’s making her hate every dress she puts on. 

How exactly Archie Andrews is going to help that, she’s not sure — but he tends to help most things, so she figures adding him to the situation couldn’t _hurt_. 

She’d started with the shower dresses — it’s happening in the next few days, and the three dress options are all _nice_ , she guesses, but when she’d looked at herself in the mirror…she felt like she might cry. She knows, logically, that she looks fine — that with her hair and makeup done, she will look completely presentable, even _pretty_ — but there’s something in the back of her mind that is needling at her, making her feel like she’s not good enough, that she’s never been good enough, even for these stupid fucking dresses.

She’d just zipped herself into the second dress and was feeling a little lightheaded when she’d glanced up and noticed Archie, sweating in his boxing gloves, through her window. She’d stopped dead in her tracks and watched as he peeled the velcro of his gloves off with his teeth, her hand finding its way to her chest, her face flushing. “ _Fuck_ ,” she’d mumbled, staring at him with her eyes wide as he’d started unwrapping the tape from his hands. The sensation of both feelings — the impending doom mixed with the tightening of her stomach, the flushing of her cheeks — propels her to her bed; she needed to sit the hell down. 

So, fine. She texts Archie, her skin feeling clammy and warm, her hands shaky. _Got a few minutes? Dress emergency…yes, another one._

She watches through her window as he grabs his phone off his desk, wiping his face with a towel before he reads her text — when he does, she sees him look up and catches his eye, smiling softly when he grins at her. He holds up a finger, and she sees the ellipses at the bottom of her screen as he types. 

_have as many minutes as you need. you ok?_

She lets out a slow, relieved breath, smiling back at him as she types, leaning on her windowsill. _I’m fine…just can’t figure out which of these is good enough. They’re all…fine, you know? Be honest, tell me which one is best?_

He holds up a finger, then calls her. She frowns down at her phone, then up at him before answering. “Hi?”

“I’m gonna like all of them, Betts,” he laughs, shaking his head, “I’m not gonna be any help.”

“You’ll have _some_ sort of opinion,” she frowns, waving a hand at him through the window. She knows what he thinks: that the only opinion he’s going to have is that she looks great in everything, but she figures he’ll find at least _one_ thing to criticize…there’s no way they’re just _all_ good. “Or, at least…you’ll like one more than you like the others.”

“Maybe,” he chuckles, shrugging, “or maybe they’re all fine and you just flip a coin, or something.”

“There are three,” she tries to grumble, but she’s laughing at him and she looks up, catching his eye. “There are no three-sided coins, Arch.”

“ _Alright_ ,” he huffs, chuckling and kicking his feet up on the windowsill, “alright, Cooper, let’s see ‘em, then.” She takes a step back from the window, sliding her hands along the sides of the dress to give it a bit more life. The dress, of course, is cherry red and long, a mermaid cut with a decent v-neck in both the front and the back, and a ruffle detail along the shoulders. She raises her eyebrows. 

“This one’s–,”

“It’s long,” Archie says, and she can see him tilting his head. “Bridal showers have long dresses?”

“Sometimes,” she laughs, rolling her eyes. “Cheryl approved all of these for the shower, so…I’m just going with it.” Archie nods. “Do you like it?”

“You look pretty,” he says, and she shuts her eyes. “What? You do.”

“Thanks,” she says, with a soft laugh. She turns to the side, then back to the front. “I…not that I don’t want you to tell me I…do you think it’s…,” she sags a little bit, shaking her head.

“I…I’m not sure what all that was, Betts,” he chuckles, “but you do – you look really pretty. I dunno. That one seems…maybe a little fancy, to me?”

She points at him, laughing, “okay, see, _that_ helps.” 

“Noted,” he chuckles, wiping sweat off his brow and raising his brows at her. 

“Alright, I’ll…be right back,” she hates that she feels her cheeks flushing as she grabs the next dress, again cherry red, this one long and flowy with some strappy back details, and heads into the bathroom to change. She hears Archie’s laugh echoing through her room on the speakerphone and leaves the door open, shouting, “shut _up_.”

“Just saying, you could’ve saved yourself like ten steps,” he chuckles, his voice carrying through the room, “I wouldn’t tell.”

“ _Archie_ ,” she laughs, her cheeks blazing. He’s laughing to himself, too, and _fuck_ , is he…hitting on her? Not possible. She shuts her eyes for a second as she pulls the second dress on, fluffing it a bit and hanging the other dress up quickly before she moves back out into the bedroom. “You’re a moron…look at this one.”

She watches as he snaps his attention back to her, instead of on his phone screen where it had been. She smiles as his eyes focus, peeking down at the dress and fluffing out the skirt, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She turns to the side, letting him see the slit up the side, her bare leg peeking out. “Oh,” he says, his voice soft through the phone. She peeks up at his face, and she can’t exactly tell _where_ he’s staring, but she knows it’s somewhere around her legs.

“What about _words_ , maybe?” She teases, laughing as he grins sheepishly up at her.

“That one has a slit,” he says, swallowing. She turns to reveal the back, straps running down to her mid back in a checkered detail, then turns her head and looks at him through her lashes, raising her brow. “Where’s the back?”

“What do you mean _where’s the back_?” she laughs, shaking her head and pressing her fingers against her face, turning to face him and grinning. “It’s _right there_ , it’s on the back.” She tosses the skirt of the dress out, chuckling over at him as he stares at her, nodding slowly.

“Right, it’s…it’s right _there_ ,” he says, softly. She squints at him and shakes her head. 

“Do you _like_ it?” He nods. She laughs hard, bending in half and peeking her face up at him, shaking her head. “I’m thinking you like it.”

“It’s really,” he stammers, and she raises her brows at him. He looks…a little red, maybe. “It’s great, that one is great.”

“Great?” Archie nods. “Okay, so do you like it better than the first one?” She laughs as she watches him bite on the inside of his cheek, moving closer to the window. He seems to be considering his answer. “I’m _asking_ , Arch, I’m not going to be mad about your answer.”

“No, no, I,” he furrows his brow. “I’m _thinking_ , s’all.” She squints at him and nods, trying to hold her laughter in which just makes it bubble up further, her laugh loud as it spills out of her mouth. “What? I am.”

“Oh my god,” she shakes her head. “Thinking hard, I can see.”

“Quit it,” he mutters, sitting back in his chair and letting out a slow breath. “I think it’s better than the first one. Less…fancy, I think.” She smiles over at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Was that so hard? So, we’re eliminating the other one,” she nods, “okay, last one. Pick your jaw up off the floor, you dweeb,” she chastises, grabbing the third dress and slipping back into the bathroom. 

She hears him chattering distantly through the speakerphone, shaking her head and slipping out of the second dress and into the third. The third is…definitely not the one she’s going to be _wearing_ , she knows – she thinks she’ll probably go with the second one – but after Archie’s reaction to the last dress, she’s excited to see what he thinks of _this_ one. It’s shorter, hitting just below the knee, hugging her curves tightly. There’s a slit up one side that joins right at the top of her upper thigh, and the fabric hugs up into a cowl neck at the top, with clear straps stretching over her shoulders. 

It’s definitely too sexy for a bridal shower, but it being one of Cheryl’s picks isn’t entirely _surprising_ , either. She gives herself a quick glance in the mirror before slipping back out of the bathroom, standing in front of the window and watching all of the breath slowly leave Archie’s body. _Oh_. 

His eyes start at her toes and she watches as they drag up, lingering on her legs, on her hips, on her breasts – the fact that she can trace his eyeline from this distance is a testament to how long his gaze is _lingering_ , really. She feels her cheeks flushing, tugging her lower lip between her teeth and letting out a little, nervous laugh when he reaches her face, his own face red, a grin on his lips. 

“I like that one,” he says, his voice stilted over the phone. “I _really_ like that one.”

“I,” she starts, and turns to the side, not realizing she’s fully letting him see her leg in the slit as she reaches for her phone. She hears him cough and she lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I can tell, Arch.”

“Is that…are you sure that…,” she peeks over at him, his face _redder_. He’s moved closer to the window, his hands jammed into the pocket of his pants. She wishes he was wearing a shirt, but she doesn’t totally care because he’s being shameless, right now, so she can be shameless back. She raises her brow at him, coaxing him to continue. “You can wear that? To a bridal shower?”

“According to Cheryl,” she chuckles, smoothing her hands down over her waist. “So…better than the last one?”

“Huh?” She snorts, watching him tear his eyes from somewhere near her hips, she figures it’s on the slit up her leg. He’s quiet for a few moments. “Do you think you can keep that?”

She chokes out a laugh, cocking her head to the side. “For _what_ , Archie?”

He doesn’t give her a straight answer, just shrugs and reaches around to the back of his neck, scratching it lightly. “I dunno…something you could wear it to,” he shrugs. She shuts her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as she laughs. “I’m just _asking_ …’cause it looks…,” she cracks open an eye and looks over at him, “I mean…you’re all grown up, Betty Cooper.”

She drops her hand, tilting her head to the side and giving him a soft smile. “Somehow, you always seem to save yourself at the last second.”

“It’s a gift,” he shrugs. She peeks at herself in the mirror. Somehow, she sees herself differently – standing here, on the phone with him, under his gaze…she’s definitely more than just _fine_.

—

He’s watching a (really, truly terrible) Christmas movie with a beer resting on his thigh when he hears the side door open, and he knows it’s Betty before he actually sees her – no one else would really just be _coming through the side door_ , for one, but he can also just tell it’s her because of the sound of her footsteps. He shakes that little detail off and puts the beer on the coffee table, getting up and making his way into the kitchen to find her. “Betts?”

She’s wearing her bathrobe, untied over her pajamas – a tank top and some fuzzy sweatpants – and her face looks pale, her eyes glassy. “Hi,” she breathes, her voice hoarse. She’s chewing hard on her lip and he sighs out a breath, making his way across the kitchen to flip the door lock, then pull her into him. He wraps his arms around her tightly, one hand sitting on her back, the other with his fingers woven into her hair. “I’m fine, Arch,” she says, and he doesn’t believe her at all. 

“Okay,” he nods, pressing his face down into her hair, rubbing her back in small circles, “you’re not, but okay.” He feels her laugh, feels her digging her fingers into the back of his t-shirt. “Want to try that again?”

She shakes her head and he sighs, but nods. He feels her trying to tilt her chin up and he pulls his face from her hair, raising his brows. “Can I stay here, tonight?”

“Of course, Betts,” he nods, furrowing his brow, “you can always stay here.” He smiles as Betty lets out a breath, loosening her grip on his shirt a little. “Want to come sit on the couch with me? M’watching some really shitty Hallmark movie ‘cause my mom told me it was good. She was wrong, though – s’ _bad_.” He feels Betty’s laugh before he hears it, grinning down at her and keeping her close as they move into the living room. He grabs his beer off the coffee table and watches her curl up into the corner of the couch. “M’gonna go grab some water – do you want anything?”

She shakes her head. “Just come back, okay?”

He frowns at her. “I’ll be back in like thirty seconds, Betty.” He sets the beer back down, moving over to the other side of the sofa and grabbing a blanket, draping it over her before he picks up the beer again, “save me a spot, I’ll be right back.”

He spills out the rest of the beer quickly, filling two glasses with water and grabbing a handful of the wrapped chocolates Betty had previously set out on his kitchen counter. “Everyone needs candy _sometime_ , Archie,” she’d shrugged, dumping the little foil wrapped candies into a glass bowl they’d found in the attic. He figures maybe she’d been talking about herself.

He smiles at her softly as he walks back into the living room, handing her a glass of water and raising his brow at her until she takes a sip, then places one of the chocolates into her other hand. “Make room for me,” he mumbles, squeezing into the corner of the couch behind her, stretching his legs out and letting her adjust herself until she’s settled against his chest, her head on his shoulder. He watches as she leans forward, placing the water glass on the coffee table and then smiles as she leans back, unwrapping the candy slowly in her shaky fingers.

They sit in silence for a long while, watching the terrible movie in which two rival bakers are trying to make the best Christmas cookies while they avoid falling in love, and then she swallows. “It’s too much, sometimes,” she sighs. He nods, lacing his fingers with hers, giving her hand a squeeze. “To be at my mom’s, after what happened with…my dad, you know?” 

Archie nods, but he doesn’t _totally_ know – his dad wasn’t a serial killer, after all, and Hal hadn’t tortured him the way he’d tortured Betty. He sighs, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. 

Betty smiles up at him, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve been having nightmares, a lot,” she shrugs. “That’s all. I haven’t had them since before I went to college, and now…I’m back, and they’re back.” 

“You were…having them before?” She nods. “A lot?” She shuts her eyes, and he knows it’s a yes. She’d mentioned them a few times, in the beginning, but he’d…just figured they’d gone away as things got further and further in the past. “Betty,” he breathes, shaking his head, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she says, her voice hard. “Don’t…feel sorry for me. It’s fine, I’m a big girl.”

Archie ignores her, continuing to move his thumb over her fingers gently. “You can stay here whenever, you know,” he says, softly, against her hair. “You don’t even have to ask. Just…let yourself in the side door, like you did tonight, and come find me, and we’ll…do this.” 

She gives him a tiny smile, nodding, her eyes focused on the TV.

She tells him about her dream, where he was in the grave – same as he was all those years ago, but this time she dug and dug and dug and couldn’t get him out. He nods. “But you did get me out,” he reminds her. “You did – that’s what matters. You got me out and we’re right here, all ‘cause of you.”

He smiles at her softly as she curls herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around his torso, her face pressed right over his heart. “’Cause of both of us,” she says, her voice soft. He nods, even though she’s wrong – it’s because of her, and they both know it. He pulls the blanket up over the two of them, brushing his thumb over the side of her face and letting out a breath. 

She falls asleep first and he follows not long after, his face dropping into her hair as he revels in the feeling of her body, truly resting, against his. 

—

The bridal shower is ridiculous in exactly the way Betty expects — elaborately decorated (Betty is certain the theme is Moulin Rouge!, but Polly assures her it’s just _red_ ), an ice sculpture, and a giant pile of gifts sitting on a table in the middle of the room. Cheryl and Toni were in matching floor length gowns, seated at a head table adorned with a candelabra and an empty bird cage. 

Betty is trying to drink her way through it — she’s on her third watered down vodka cranberry when she finally caves and texts Archie, mostly because she’s bored, but partly because Cheryl had scolded her for choosing the wrong dress (something Archie would probably agree with, unfortunately). 

“You didn’t _specify_ ,” Betty had spat, her arms crossed over her chest, “you said there were _choices_.”

“Yes, cousin, and you chose _wrong_ ,” Cheryl had rolled her eyes, and Toni had put her hand on the redhead’s elbow. 

“You look great, Betty,” Toni had smiled, and Betty had returned it before glaring back at Cheryl.

So, she shoots Archie a text (‘ _Guess what…we chose the wrong dress_ ’) and tries to mingle around with Polly, who’s an easy target for small talk because of the twins. Betty hates small talk — mostly because it gives people the opportunity to ask questions like, “what are you doing these days?”, and her answer to that question is less than impressive. Licking her wounds from getting fired, sending out job applications from her teenage bedroom, and wistfully staring at her childhood best friend while he demolishes a punching bag aren’t exactly accomplishments she can pin onto the fridge or share with her mother’s closest acquaintances. 

She sips her drink (well, drinks) and moves through the crowd with Polly by her side, peeking at her phone to text Archie, who’d responded with, ‘ _no way in hell that dress was wrong, betts…tell cheryl to get her eyes checked_ ’, and smiling politely at older women who tell her how pretty she’s looking these days. She wants to leave, badly — and when Polly ditches her to call and check on Juniper and Dagwood, she decides she’s had enough of this party and its shitty, watery cocktails, and ducks into the foyer to call Archie. She’s a little wobbly on her heels as she moves, but she manages to dial him pretty easily. She needs a ride, and she knows he’ll come and save her from this bullshit if she asks nicely. 

“Hi?” He answers quickly and she laughs, pressing her face into the phone.

“Help me,” she whines, “I hate it here.”

“Ah, so they _did_ have an open bar,” Archie muses, and she laughs. They’d been trying to figure out whether the Blossoms would spring for the open bar, Betty firmly in the camp that they would deprive their guests of alcohol, and therefore, fun. 

“They _do_ ,” she rolls her eyes, laughing. “They do, and even that isn’t helping, so I gotta get out of here.”

“Are you allowed to just leave?”

“I dunno,” she leans against one of the gaudy walls of Thistlehouse, pressing her head against a dark wood door frame. “But if you come get me, I don’t think I care if I’m _allowed_.”

“Ah, so this is for a _ride_ ,” he chuckles, “not just to chat.”

“Oh, my motivations are purely self-centered.” She listens as he laughs, feeling her cheeks go red. “Please,” she whines a little, “I’ll owe you, Archie.”

“You’ll owe me, huh,” she figures he’s pretending to think and she considers calling him out, but she’s pretty sure he’s going to come get her, so she doesn’t want to risk it. “Well,” he sighs, “I don’t think I can just let a Betty Cooper favor fall to the wayside, so…fifteen minutes?”

“I’ll give you twenty, if you need them,” she laughs, her face curling into the first genuine smile she’s worn all day. “Thanks, Arch.”

“Thank me later,” he laughs, and hangs up.

He makes it there in under fifteen minutes and Betty tells her mother she has a headache, slipping out the door without mentioning it to Cheryl or Toni. She’s fairly certain they won’t miss her or even notice she’s gone. She feels her phone buzz in her hand and glances down as she makes her way to Archie’s truck, rolling her eyes as she reads out a text from Cheryl, ‘ _Have a fun night with your boy wonder, cousin_ 🙄’.

Betty rolls her eyes right back at the screen, lifting the skirt of her dress before hopping up into the truck and kicking off her shoes. She slides over on the bench seat and gives him a one-armed hug. Her mouth goes a little dry at the sight of him, wearing a t-shirt and jeans with his face a little scruffy. She’s pretty sure he’d look hot in anything, but right now, with the combination of his unshaved face and the vodka swirling around in her blood, he looks really, _really_ hot. “You _saved_ me,” she laughs, leaning up and kissing his cheek. She waits until he’s pulled out of Thistlehouse’s gates to shoot Cheryl back a middle finger emoji. “I say as a celebration,” she says, her words a little more slurred than she’d care them to be, “we get you on my level.”

“I don’t know if that’s even _possible_ , Betty,” Archie laughs, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She leans her face into his arm. 

“But you can _try_ ,” she says, her voice soft.

“I can try,” he nods. She feels him playing with the straps of her dress on the back of her shoulder. “Don’t kill me for saying this,” he murmurs, his voice gentle, “but I think Cheryl’s right on this one, you chose the wrong dress. This isn't the strapless one _,_ Betts.”

Betty rolls her eyes, pinching his elbow. “They _all_ had straps,” she scoffs, leaning further into him and ignoring the way he tugs on one of the straps stretching across her back, instead keeping her eyes on the road.

They get to his house quickly and she rustles around in the kitchen, mixing him a drink that’s probably far too strong (okay, _definitely_ far too strong) and one for herself that’s a bit weaker, wanting him to catch up.

She sets it in his hand and then ducks into the laundry room, grabbing a t-shirt and shorts she’d stashed there a few weeks ago and wriggling out of her dress, pulling it on as she hears Archie coughing in the living room. “Holy shit,” he chokes, “what did you put in this?”

She grins as she walks out into the living room, flopping onto the couch next to him and giggling with her eyes wide. “ _Alcohol_ , Archie,” she coos.

“Alcohol, or lighter fluid?” She frowns at him. “It’s… _strong_ , Betty, that’s all. _God_.”

“I told you, you need to get on my level!” She grins over at him, laughing and stretching her legs into his lap, pressing her toes against his chest. “I say we play a game.”

“What kinda game?” She watches his eyes follow her feet, sliding his free hand over her bare calves.

“Hmmm,” she taps her fingers to her lips. He blinks at her and she points at him, “you blinked,” she shakes her head, tsk-ing at him, “you have to drink.”

“I can’t not _blink_ , Betty.”

“You said my name,” she grins, raising her brows. “Drink.”

They carry on with her stupid game, her calling out his most mundane actions and slipping further and further into his lap, only moving to mix him a second (stronger) drink before flopping back onto him. She feels her skin tingling as he slides his thumb against her leg, his fingers pressing into the side of her knee. She shuts her eyes and hums softly as she finishes her drink, leaning her back against his chest, her head falling back against his shoulder. “You know,” she says, her voice soft, “if I’m thankful for anything that’s come out of being back in town…it’s definitely you.”

“Me?” He’s not drunk, not by a mile, but she can tell he feels the alcohol by the way he speaks, the smile that spreads across his face, the way that he presses his hands against her waist as she speaks. “You’re thankful for me?”

“For getting to be around you again,” she shrugs, turning her face and pressing her lips messily to his cheek. 

She can hear the laughter in his throat. “That’s definitely something we can agree on,” he murmurs. She feels like the smile she’s got on her face is stretching through her whole body as he nods, lacing his fingers with hers and giving her hand a squeeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone is interested, the dresses mentioned in this chapter are [here](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d5e54502f51d46eede1f8e1fc52e34f1/79bbed9cab6b11aa-50/s1280x1920/b2687d3af462ba414b41dd4580fbb8bb91f411f7.jpg), [here](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9387d8d5c923a918ef4f5897f32577a2/79bbed9cab6b11aa-01/s540x810/cd08a41c732df340cb733086fb8981d17355600e.jpg), & [here](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e64bac7e3bf77a47a383e51c124a2a5b/79bbed9cab6b11aa-6e/s540x810/53e4b98a32b01160af5c2a115758bf0bbf94989d.jpg)!

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bettycooopers) or [tumblr](https://bettycooopers.tumblr.com) if you feel like watching me break down in real time!


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